The Guest
by rann
Summary: An enigmatic stranger, mysterious hunting parties, a near fatal disease. Just another day in the Lost World. Set in virtual season 4, Summerlee has returned. COMPLETED
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** The characters from "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" are owned by Telescene, NewLine Television, The Over the Hill Gang, Coote/Hayes, etc. No profit is being made from this story. No infringement upon copyrighted material is intended. 

**Author's Note:** Many thanks to Ariadne for her patience on this much delayed present. And I even made her work for it!

**Thanks:** To my betas for all their work and patience. Kudos to Ariadne, CMS, and Santa Crux for their encouragement and eagle eyes. Thanks to Lisa Paris for her insight into what a good Englishman would know!

**Setting:** Virtual Season Four, Summerlee has returned to the treehouse, Finn has gone back to the future.

**Spoilers:** All of the episodes in the three seasons are game. And a subtle reference to my fan fics Trading and Tying off the Threads.

**Description:** An enigmatic stranger, mysterious hunting parties, a near fatal disease. Just another day in the Lost World.

**The Guest**  
by rann

**Prologue**

"You want to pick up the pace? Challenger is already out of sight," Roxton nagged as he trailed behind the beautiful linguist. The narrow jungle path and the dense vegetation made for short sight lines.

"You didn't have to come along," Marguerite pointed out in slightly acidic tones, looking back over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"What and miss spending the day with you?" His words were light and teasing.

Marguerite face drew into a moue not at all impressed with the blatant flattery. "You really are a silver tongued devil, Lord Roxton. However is London surviving without you?" But she did walk a little faster though, despite her mocking words.

Roxton's eyes crinkled in enjoyment at the repartee, but his ready reply was forestalled by the third member of their party.

"Marguerite, come here and tell me what you think," Challenger's voice demanded from a distance.

Marguerite sighed as she hurried along, closely followed by the protective hunter.  
The red headed scientist stood in a clearing in the jungle. "There is no discernable reason for the larger vegetation to stop where it does, unless something beneath the surface is preventing those plants from taking root. Summerlee was quite definite on that point."

"And you think that it's the remains of some lost civilization?" The dubious note in Marguerite's voice was unmistakable.

"Look at the irregular formation of the ground." Challenger handed Marguerite the end of a roll of twine. "We'll section off this area into grids and use that pit over there for dumping."

Marguerite looked at the distance to the designated pit and raised her eyebrows.

"All right, we'll use this other one closer by." Challenger knew when to concede a point.

"Thank you." Marguerite was mildly sarcastic, because even with the nearby pit she knew she was in for a hard day of digging.

The corners of Roxton's mouth turned up in private amusement. He had no doubt despite her initial reluctance that she'd get as nearly involved in the discovery process as Challenger and forget her complaints. Until, of course, it was time to go home. "I'll circle the perimeter and keep an eye out for any interlopers," he informed his companions.

"Um –hmm" and "That's fine, Roxton." were the abstracted responses he received as the amateur archeologists sectioned off the site.

"I'm going to find some fruit to have with our lunch," Roxton announced some hours later to the two excavators. Eyeing the pair skeptically, he cautioned firmly, "Keep an eye out while I'm gone."

Wiping her brow with her forearm, Marguerite dismissed his concerns. "We'll be fine, Roxton."

"Don't worry about us." Challenger pulled his canteen out and took a deep swallow of water. "I have my gun….." he looked about and spied it six or seven yards away. Crossing over and picking it up, he said, "right here."

Roxton sighed and vowed to himself he'd only be a few minutes. A quick glance showed that at least Marguerite's pistol was still in the holster at her side. Although when she was absorbed in a project even her much vaunted sense of self-preservation was less than reliable.

Roxton returned shortly with the fruit and was unsurprised to see that Challenger had moved off to dig in a new section, his rifle once again left behind a short distance away. His mouth tightened as he noticed Marguerite's belt and holster were now lying near the edge of one of the trenches that she had excavated, already a couple of feet deep. She was barely visible from where she knelt within the hole, intent on her work as she carefully brushed some dirt from a partially buried object.

The hunter shook his head resignedly._ "Well, that's why I'm here. Both of them are too apt to get focused on their work and lose track of what's going on around them."_ Out loud he said, "Why don't you take a break and have some lunch." The sun was directly overhead and an hour out of the hot sun would do them all good. Roxton walked over and reached down to give Marguerite a hand out of the trench. She smiled her thanks.

Frowning, Roxton pointedly dropped her belt and holster in her still outstretched hand and with a sigh she put them back on. She knew he was exasperated with her carelessness, but the bulky flap holster was hampering her efforts to clear the artifacts in the dig. Still she understood his concern was justified and she gave him a rueful smile that deflected the imminent lecture. The hunter contented himself with another resigned shake of the head.

Challenger and Marguerite had been working for a couple of hours after lunch when Marguerite called excitedly. "George, look at this!"

Roxton wandered over as George joined the linguist to inspect her discovery.

"It's some sort of urn. Roxton, give me a hand." The hunter obligingly helped the scientist lift the large, heavy clay pot to the side of the excavated area. The dirt in the trench had been cleared away to reveal a rocky underlayment some three feet below and several other similar urns lay on their sides awaiting inspection. All were intact.

"There's a set of grooves around the top rim." Marguerite knelt at the edge of her excavation and inspected the vessel. "Why does that sound familiar?" Puzzled, she sat back on her heels and looked at Challenger.

"That's characteristic of the Grooved Ware People. Of course, it's unusual that we should find something like that here. They were a Neolithic culture in Britain. Evidence of them has been found at the Henges."

"Why wouldn't they be here, everyone else is," Marguerite remarked dryly. She focused on the lid covering the urn. "It's sealed."

"I might have a solvent that can open it. Or perhaps we can pry it open." Challenger ardently regarded this new find.

"We're not going to open this, George!" Marguerite was adamant.

"It's probably just an ordinary burial urn." The scientist's tone was placating.

"Exactly, and you remember what happened the last time someone opened one of those?" Marguerite pinned the scientist with a glare, reminding Challenger of the demon who had taken him over.

Roxton caught Marguerite's eye and nodded so she'd know she'd have his backing on this argument. The hunter began patrolling the perimeter of the dig, as he listened with half an ear to the pair wrangling, somewhat amused. The rest of his attention was on the thick growth that bordered the clearing. Intangible menaces might be found in an uncovered clay jar, but very real dangers were still more likely to lurk in the surrounding jungle.

"You know some cultures buried jewelry with their dead." Challenger held out the lure knowing how drawn she was to gems.

"But not this one," Marguerite made her case firmly. "Look at the plainness of the urn. No designs, no engravings aside from the rudimentary grooves. A simple fired pot."

Challenger decided to retreat on that front for the moment. Later he'd get Summerlee back here and the two of them would investigate. "Is there anything else there, besides burial urns?"

Marguerite lightly dropped back into the trench. "I found a couple of glazed clay cups and plates. Or parts of them." She picked up some of the colorful fragments that shimmered in the bright sunlight.

"Oh, Summerlee will want to see these." Challenger took one of the pieces of clay. "These hues are amazing examples of …."

"Quiet!" Roxton spoke firmly from across the clearing.

A rustle in the bushes tensed all three explorers. Challenger turned to retrieve his rifle, as Marguerite pulled her pistol from the holster.

Roxton's rifle barked. A raptor fell back even as it broke through the brush.

A second raptor leapt over the shrubbery towards Challenger. Roxton's aim was true again.

This raptor fell forward hitting the burial urn, knocking it into the trench.

It shattered. A cloud of dust rose.

Marguerite, still in the trench, turned away coughing. The dust cloud caught Challenger as well, who had just turned back, rifle in hand. Taking the scientist's hand, barely able to see, Marguerite climbed out of the trench. Both she and Challenger brushed away the fine dry matter, gasping for air as they cleared their throats.

Seeing that his companions were apparently safe for the moment, Roxton took a few moments and expertly scanned bushes on the perimeter to ensure that a third raptor wasn't lurking in the undergrowth. The normal sounds of the jungle returned gradually. Satisfied that they were secure for the present, he joined his friends. Marguerite was recapping a canteen. Using a handkerchief she had managed to wash away most of the dust. Apparently Challenger had escaped the worst of it.

"Are you okay?" Roxton's question was addressed to both but his eyes were focused on Marguerite.

"A little out of breath but otherwise fine. I think we were demon free this time," Marguerite quipped. Roxton studied her eyes, then inclined his head, assured that no supernatural encounter had occurred, that the woman behind the eyes was the one he knew.

Challenger nodded. "We seem relatively unscathed."

"We've had enough excitement for the day. Let's get started back to the treehouse while there's still plenty of daylight." Roxton worded it mildly but he was ready to argue the point if Challenger didn't go along with the plan.

He needn't have worried. Marguerite rolled her shoulders as she became aware of how tired she was. "Fine with me." She looked at the piles of dirt she and Challenger had excavated. "I must have carted half the jungle away." The realization of the amount of work she had done, the soreness of her muscles, and how grimy she was made her irritable. "I'm ready for a shower."

"Just don't use up all the hot water," Roxton warned lightly. As Challenger turned to gather his pack, the hunter leaned toward the dark-haired beauty to whisper in her ear. "Otherwise, I might have to join you." He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Marguerite swatted him lightly across the chest as she unsuccessfully tried to pull a disapproving frown for his flirting. They both ended up laughing lightly as they turned to follow the scientist.

They were about an hour from the treehouse. Challenger was again leading the way with Marguerite behind him and Roxton acting as rearguard. Marguerite's steps were slowing.

"Hey, I thought you were so anxious for that shower," Roxton remarked. Marguerite didn't say anything but her steps quickened just a bit.

A few moments later her steps slowed again.

"Really Marguerite, we're never going to get home at this rate," the hunter complained impatiently.

Marguerite turned back towards him. In front of his horrified eyes, the color drained from her face and her knees buckled.

"Marguerite!" He dashed forward and caught her before she hit the ground.

At Roxton's shout, Challenger doubled back to find the hunter kneeling on the ground cradling Marguerite. One arm supported her back as he held her against his chest, the other hand felt her forehead. He looked up, worried, at Challenger. "She's burning up." Bright splotches of color appeared on her cheeks, a sharp contrast to her pallor. She shivered.

"Let's get her back to the treehouse."

Roxton nodded his agreement. Carefully supporting his unconscious lover, the hunter's pace was rapid as he led the way. They weren't far from the perimeter fence when Roxton realized Challenger was stumbling in his wake.

"Go on, Roxton. Get her home. I'll be fine." The scientist tried to reassure his friend as the hunter turned to check on him.

"Put your hand on my shoulder, George. We're almost there." Roxton was not about to lose either the woman he loved or his closest friend. The English nobleman kept the pace as fast as he dared, but as he supported more and more of Challenger's weight, their progress was increasingly slowed.

At the gate, the scientist managed to unlatch it with his free hand before falling through the opening and landing on the ground.

"Summerlee! Veronica! Malone!" Roxton's alarmed shout had Summerlee at the balcony in a heartbeat.

"Good heavens!" The elderly botanist saw Challenger lying on the ground and Marguerite held tightly in Roxton's arms.

In a few moments the elevator was down with Summerlee, Veronica and Malone.

"Take her up to her room, John." Summerlee had placed a hand briefly on her forehead, frowning at the severity of her temperature. "I'll prepare something for the fever." He touched Challenger's head as well and nodded at Malone and Veronica.

"You go up with Roxton and Marguerite, Professor," Malone told him as he and Veronica reached down to pull up the scientist.

"We'll take care of getting Challenger up to the treehouse," Veronica assured him as she draped one of the scientist's arms over her shoulder.

Summerlee nodded his agreement and hurried after the hunter, anxious to begin preparing draughts for his patients.

It was several hours later and the fevers had only slightly abated. Summerlee had tried several remedies with only minor success. Both Challenger and Marguerite were restless, sometimes delirious, requiring nearly constant care.

"What caused this?" Roxton demanded as Summerlee took a recuperative cup of tea. The elderly botanist was exhausted and worried. The hunter was frantic. He'd barely left Marguerite's side since carrying her up to the treehouse.

"You say they inadvertently were exposed to the contents of a burial urn?" the white haired scientist verified. At Roxton's nod he continued. "I suspect it's a mold that was dormant. You didn't inhale any?"

"No, I wasn't that close when it broke."

"You should be fine, but we'll watch you for a day or two anyway."

"Why was Marguerite affected so much sooner than Challenger?" The hunter paced the great room restlessly.

Summerlee sipped a bit more of the tea as he mentally reviewed what Roxton had told him about the incident, how the cloud of dust had enveloped the ailing pair. "I suspect she had an initially stronger dose than Challenger since she was next to the urn when it broke."

"I'll get you a sample of the mold." Roxton latched onto the idea as a way to do something for his companions.

"No, John. No one's going back there. It's too dangerous until we can devise a way to safely collect the sample." Summerlee recognized the stubborn look and spoke as rationally as he could. "Besides, we need you here. It's going to take all of us to take care of them. Challenger needs you." He added what he knew would be the clinching argument. "Marguerite needs you."

Roxton nodded reluctantly as he recognized the gravity in the botanist's voice.

Summerlee watched the hunter return to his vigil by Marguerite's side and kept to himself the thought that similar diseases he had read about had proved fatal in the past.

**continued **


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**  
_Some ten days later _

Nall read the spoor as he knelt on one knee on the game trail. He steadied himself with his spear and considered the bushes that infringed on the narrow path then nodded, pleased with himself. He was making some progress in tracking skills. In a short while he'd have his quarry, then he could return to the Zanga village with his contribution for the coming feast that marked the beginning of the new cycle, _Oíche Shamhna_.

Two figures stood by stealthily, concealed in the dense undergrowth watching the Zanga hunter, hands on the swords at their sides. The Magyars were similarly dressed in loose tunics and pants, belted by a sash at the waist, one nodded towards the Zanga hunter as if in inquiry to his companion, the other tipped his head in acknowledgement and contemplated the figure before them.

Nall stood up, eager to continue his tracking.

* * *

Ned sighed his relief as they left the clearing dominated by the altar dedicated to Atunga. Veronica smiled at his obvious discomfort. Ned shook his head. 

"That thing always gives me the creeps no matter how often we pass it."

"I don't think Assai's ever forgiven Professor Summerlee for mentioning Jehovah in its presence." Veronica recalled Assai's outrage when she told her friend about the incident days later. "She was positive that Atunga would do something terrible in revenge."

"Tough guy, huh? Why'd they put him here?"

"Wouldn't you want someone nasty to discourage your enemies from approaching your home?"

Ned just smiled, acknowledging the truth of that statement, and the pair concentrated on the entangling vegetation that covered the path. This section was deliberately left overgrown to disguise the route to the Zanga village. It was a practical idea, but it did make the footing treacherous. They'd have an easier time of it as they drew further from the village. They were a good mile away from the clearing that was just about a halfway point between the treehouse and the Zanga village.

* * *

The two Magyars alertly prowled along the well-traveled path listening and watching for signs, determined not to be surprised. They paused as they reached a clearing. A rustle from the opposite side had them melting back into the bushes and screening themselves from view.

The blond head of the reporter emerged into the clearing. The Magyars stood straighter as they assessed his appearance. They gripped their swords. A glance at each other had them nodding and they took a step forward.

Ned turned his head back the way he came. "Shall we take a break here? These packs are getting heavier with each step." He shrugged the pack off his back and lowered it gently to the ground.

"Sounds good to me." Veronica's voice could be heard from a slight distance away. She had been falling farther behind on the trail, her steps slowing as she dealt with the cumbersome pack.

At the sound of her voice, the Magyars froze. The first shook his head and the pair slid the swords back into the scabbards and slipped deeper into the jungle.

Veronica stepped into the clearing and then froze, sensing rather than seeing the movement. She stared intently at the surrounding brush. Ned realizing she'd noticed something waited patiently one hand on his weapon ready to respond. Inwardly he reproached himself for missing whatever signs had alerted his companion. After a moment Veronica relaxed.

"What was it?" Ned inquired quietly, still not ready to ease his vigilant stance.

Veronica shook her head. "Maybe nothing. At least it's not here now." She flexed her shoulders anxious to put the over-laden pack down. Ned gripped her rucksack, so she could ease her arms out of the straps and then he set it next to his pack.

"All that talk by the Zanga warriors about a mysterious group searching for some bogy man just has you spooked." Ned turned away to unhook his canteen and didn't see Veronica's frown at his words. She didn't like the idea that she was so easily rattled or that Ned would so readily dismiss her forebodings.

"Between the Zanga's warnings and the weight of these packs, I'll be glad to get back to the treehouse." Veronica tried for a neutral tone.

"We could be well out of it. Marguerite and Challenger aren't the easiest convalescents I've ever seen." Ned offered the canteen first to Veronica.

Veronica took a deep swallow before answering, "Why do you think I volunteered us for the supply run?" She smiled as she handed the water back to Ned.

Ned chuckled as he recapped the canteen; a sudden rustle in the bushes had the blonde couple looking around. The absence of the sounds of birds and monkeys intruded on their notice. Ned readied his rifle. "Raptors?"

Veronica nodded.

The green and brown mottled reptile broke through on the left. Ned fired as it made the edge of the clearing.

"Watch it, Ned!" Veronica pointed to the right.

Another raptor leapt the low vegetation asVeronica called the warning to the reporter. He raised his rifle and expertly took down the second raptor in as many minutes.

Two more reptiles sprang into the clearing.

Ned fumbled with the rifle. Both barrels were now empty.

Veronica threw her knife at the nearest one.

Ned backed up, groping for his pistol.

He slipped on the wet grass.

The remaining raptor closed in.

Ned was prone on the ground. Veronica circled around rapidly to retrieve her knife, knowing it was a futile attempt. She'd never be in time to save Malone.

The raptor, towering over the young reporter and poised to strike, suddenly toppled to the ground. The long shafted spear waved in the sunlight as the dying raptor's movements slowed and stopped.

Veronica exhaled in surprise and relief. "How….?" She looked around.

Ned steadied his breathing and pushed himself up from the ground.

From the bushes, a tall, broad shouldered man pushed through. "Are you all right, ifjú hölgy?" He was staring at Veronica. "I ran as fast as I could. I heard the raptors and the gunshots." His concern for her well-being as well as admiration for her loveliness was written in deep blue eyes, set in a tanned, handsome face

"Thank you," Veronica breathed as she looked at their savior. "I thought for sure that last raptor had us." She strove to control her racing pulse, a reaction to their peril and narrow escape. Her voice was completely lacking in suspicion as she asked, "Who are you?" Veronica couldn't help but smile up at him. After all the man had saved them. _"And his eyes are the blue of the deepest part of the Inland Sea."_ But she kept that thought to herself.

He smiled brilliantly in return, softening his rugged jaw line, clearly taken with the blonde beauty. "I am Count Sándor Bocskai, fair damsel. Completely at your service." He bowed low, his arm sweeping out with a flourish.

Veronica's eyes glowed at his storybook manners and looks out of a fairy tale. A dark lock of hair fell across his forehead. Veronica felt an urge to smooth it back, wondering if it felt as soft as it looked.

Sándor turned away from the jungle girl with a flattering reluctance towards Ned, who was beginning to frown in suspicion. The newcomer smiled disarmingly. "And you, are you hurt?" He looked at the dead raptors and inclined his head, eyeing the reporter appraisingly. "You are indeed a fine shot. And most excellent with a knife."

Ned grinned at the compliment, his worries subsiding a bit, but protested, "I can't take credit for the knife, that was Veronica's doing." He reloaded his rifle efficiently as they spoke.

"Veronica, truly a beautiful name for a beautiful lady. But for so charming a young lady to prove so deadly, you astound me." Count Bocskai bowed low once more as this time he took Veronica's hand in his and kissed it, holding it for a long moment. Veronica felt a frisson of excitement at being the object of such gallantry from a man who not only was so handsome and obviously cultured, but also so competent in the jungle.

Sándor's eyes gleamed as he smiled at Veronica. He bowed again, but it was more just a tip of the head as he turned to Malone. "And you are?"

"Ned Malone, Challenger Expedition." Sándor betrayed no recognition of the name, although his head cocked in interest. Ned heaved an internal sigh, so much for another fragile hope that someone might be on their trail; that this Count, although an improbable searcher for them, may have heard about them from others who were.

"Are you from a village near here?" Veronica asked although it seemed unlikely, as she took in his old fashioned clothes. She was pretty sure his jacket was called a morning coat; his shirt had a high stock and a pleated front bib. She couldn't recall any nearby settlement that dressed that way. She flexed her shoulders, discovering she was more worn out from their trip than she had realized.

"Most unfortunately, no. I was out hunting yesterday and encountered a tribal war party that was searching for someone. They were accosting many people, especially lone travelers." Sándor frowned at the memory. "It seemed as if their attacks were almost at random." Sándor exhibited noticeable confusion. "As I eluded them I managed to get myself lost. I am most unwilling to retrace my steps for fear I'll run across them." He held up his hands in a forlorn gesture and smiled sadly at Veronica.

"We heard about some group new to this territory. The Magyars," Malone offered. "A Zanga trading party ran across them, talked to them a bit. They were pretty determined to find whoever they were looking for."

Ned considered the matter for a moment. "Odd, that the trading party didn't seem worried that the Magyars were very aggressive" He shrugged as he thought back to what the Zanga said. "Maybe there were too many of the Zanga, or they were too well armed, or they could have been just lucky that they weren't attacked."

The reporter gestured at one of the trails leading away from the clearing. "We were heading back home, when we ran into the raptors. Sounds like it's fortunate that the raptors were all we ran into."

"You'd better come with us." Veronica smiled at the sudden brightening of Sándor's face. "You can get your bearings at the treehouse." In truth she couldn't wait to get back herself. She was in need of some rest. She and Assai had spent a good part of the night talking. The late night seemed suddenly to be catching up with her.

"You are as gracious as you are lovely. I would be delighted to accompany you to this …treehouse of yours." Sándor retrieved his spear, and as Veronica went for her knife, said, "Allow me." He crossed the clearing to retrieve the jungle girl's knife from the dinosaur's head.

The bushes rustled. A thud echoed in the clearing. The ground vibrated. A raptor roared its displeasure.

Ned deliberately took aim. Now he had a chance to demonstrate his skill.

The dinosaur fell, before the reporter could fire.

A knife stuck out from its neck.

Ned lowered his rifle slowly.

Veronica smiled her approval at the throw their new-found companion had made from where he still knelt yards away beside the dinosaur Veronica had killed before.

Crossing the clearing to the fresh kill, once again he retrieved the knife. This time he presented it to the jungle girl with a flourish.

Veronica beamed. "Thank you, Count." Her admiration for his abilities was clear to read.

"You are quite welcome, Miss…?" The Count stopped with a note of inquiry in his voice.

"Layton," Ned supplied. He wasn't sure what prompted him to try and encourage some formality with this newcomer.

"No, please, call me Veronica," the jungle girl jumped in, overriding the reporter's attempt at distancing them from the man who saved them again.

"If you insist." The Count smiled his pleasure at the request. "I would be so honored if you would call me Sándor." He took the jungle girl's hand once more and pressed a kiss on it. Veronica's cheeks reddened slightly.

Sándor, aware that Malone was staring at him, turned and said, "You as well, Ned Malone, must call me Sándor."

The reporter nodded in response. As the Count looked back to Veronica, Ned frowned, but was unwilling to say anything about his spoiled shot. It would have sounded mean spirited. But it was galling, every time he had a chance to show Veronica how competent he had become in the jungle, what a man of action he now was, something interfered. He sighed internally. In all honesty he had to admire the crisp move that this Count had made. It was as fine a throw as Veronica might make.

Ned and Veronica stooped to pick up their packs.

"Please, you must allow me." The Count was at Veronica's side taking the pack from her. She smiled gratefully at his consideration.

"Thank you. My treehouse is just a couple of hours away."

"If it is half as remarkable as its owner, I know I'll find it fascinating." The Count's eyes never left Veronica's face.

Ned frowned watching the pair head out. As Veronica led the way with Sándor following close behind, no one noticed the Zanga warrior lying in the bushes, eyes unseeing.

**continued **


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
**_At the treehouse _

"Are they any better?" Roxton inquired worriedly. He stepped off the elevator, arms filled with a load of firewood.

"There's some more improvement, but neither of them should do too much yet. They still need to rest." Summerlee was preparing two cups of tea. The smell of chamomile had Roxton wrinkling his nose as he stored the firewood. Better Challenger and Marguerite than him. As he put the logs away, he frowned over the near encounter he'd had earlier in the day.

Summerlee glanced at the hunter and noticed the frown. "Something wrong, John?" The elderly botanist asked with some trepidation. After all they've been through they really didn't need any more difficulties.

Roxton measured the older man with eyes before replying. He did him the courtesy of answering honestly. He'd learn to appreciate his companions' worth and not try to hide the facts with some mistaken notion of protection. "I was checking the snare early this morning and realized I was being watched. I didn't want them to realize I was aware of them." The hunter thought back to the incident. "I pulled the rabbits out and reset the snare. Then I slipped away from them. I wasn't followed here." Roxton added the last as reassurance.

Summerlee studied his companion as he let the tea steep. "Could you tell what tribe or village they were from?"

The skilled hunter shook his head. "I didn't recognize anything about them. I could have gone back to trail them, but I was more concerned about getting back here. And they did nothing to indicate they were hostile." And, as he thought about it, they'd had plenty of time to make a try at him as he set his traps. _"Of course, they'd have been in for a surprise if they thought they'd catch me unawares."_

The botanist nodded approvingly. "They may just have been curious."

Roxton grinned; talking to Summerlee had eased his mind. "We do seem to attract sightseers."

"I've really had a dickens of a time trying to keep Challenger out of the lab," the white-haired botanist complained as he picked up some additional herbs to add to the tea he was brewing. Challenger might place his faith in fungus growing on bread, but Summerlee knew that a cup of tea did a world of good.

The scrape of a boot against the wood floor below drew the tall hunter's attention across the treehouse and down the stairs. Marguerite stood at the bottom of the stairs, apparently gathering her energy to make the ascent. "What do you think you're doing?" Roxton demanded.

"I'm not staying in that room any longer. I'm sure I can rest just as well out here as there." The dark-haired linguist's tone brooked no denial.

At Summerlee's nod, Roxton grabbed an afghan left on a chair then descended the stairs. He put the blanket around her shoulders and scooped her up. One arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders. "Next time, ask for help," he scolded his stubborn companion. Marguerite sighed in exasperation as she put her arm on his shoulder for balance.

The hunter deposited her gently on a wicker chair by the balcony so she could either look out across the jungle vista or see what was happening in the main room. A shiver had Roxton tucking the blanket firmly over her shoulders. His hand went to her forehead. _"Still a bit of a fever."_

Summerlee motioned with the teacup, wanting Roxton to give it to her, but he was too wily a hunter for that. Besides, Summerlee had a better chance of getting her to actually drink it. He'd always been intrigued at how the elderly scientist brought out Marguerite's gentle side so effortlessly.

As Summerlee passed Roxton he remarked sotto voce, "Really, John, I didn't think you were that much of a coward."

"Discretion is the better part of valour, Professor," Roxton replied with a smile, equally low voiced.

A crash on the level below had Roxton frowning. "Why don't I check on Challenger?"

The hunter took the stairs two at a time and found the scientist trying to put a table right.

"Let me take care of that, George."

"Thank you. I believe Summerlee moved that table in my way on purpose," Challenger groused.

"It's always been there," Roxton attempted to pacify the scientist's pique over an imagined wrong. "What are you trying to do?"

"I'm going to the lab, of course. I want to finish writing up my notes on this illness." Challenger gave the air of stating the obvious.

The English nobleman grasped his arm to steady him. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I certainly can't stay in bed any longer."

Trying to quell his own exasperation for yet another recalcitrant patient, Roxton settled the scientist at the table in the lab he used as a desk. He put paper, inkstand and pens with their neatly sharpened nibs in place. "Anything else you need, George?"

"Summerlee. I want him to describe his current treatments completely."

"I'll let him know." Roxton could see that Marguerite and Challenger's recuperation was going to keep both Summerlee and himself on their toes. "I'll see if he's finished with Marguerite and then send him down."

Roxton made his escape to the main floor of the treehouse.

"Really, Marguerite, for someone who has such a wonderful bedside manner, you make a terrible patient," Summerlee reproved.

Roxton watched appreciatively as Summerlee coaxed a reluctant smile from their dark haired companion._ "How did the man get around her?"_

"All right, all right, Arthur. I'll drink the damned stuff." Marguerite didn't have energy left to argue any longer. Roxton regarded that as a reliable sign of how far from recovered she was.

Summerlee handed the cup to her. With a grimace she swallowed the contents and returned the cup to him. Summerlee smiled benevolently. "You'll feel much better."

The look in Marguerite's eyes doubted the truth of that remark, but as they fell on Roxton they regained some of their normal fire. "Wipe that smirk off your face!"

"I didn't say a word." Roxton continued to be amused, but he stepped behind Marguerite and stroked her hair away from her forehead, soothing her. Her eyes closed, her face relaxed, and she leaned back into his ministrations.

Summerlee nodded approvingly at Roxton's actions and at the effect they had on Marguerite. He turned his attention to his other patient. "Was Challenger all right?"

"He's in the lab. Another one who won't stay still." The last was said with gentle emphasis for the benefit of the woman he tended. She smiled, eyes still closed, mildly amused.

"Do you want to take him this cup of chamomile tea?" Summerlee inquired.

"Why don't you, Professor? He was asking for you, anyway." Roxton evaded the request, knowing he'd never have Summerlee's success in convincing Challenger to drink the medicinal tea.

Summerlee, undeceived as to Roxton's motives, eyed the hunter knowingly, but acquiesced wordlessly as he picked up the cup and descended to the lab to tend his next patient.

"Now would you like another cup of tea?" Roxton inquired pleasantly.

Marguerite's eyes flew open and she gave him a darkling look.

"It won't be Earl Grey, but it's the best the plateau has to offer. And it's NOT chamomile!" He added the last in a humorous defense.

"Thank you, John." Marguerite smiled her acceptance.

Marguerite sipped the hot, fragrant tea; eyes closed again, and for several long moments enjoyed just being out of her room. John had sat with her long hours while she was so very ill. In the past she usually preferred not to have such constant attention when she wasn't feeling well, but somehow it had gotten to the point where she had become accustomed to his company.

Over these past years on the plateau, she had grown used to him sitting nearby with a book or working on his guns while she sewed or read. They'd share a pot of coffee or tea. One of them would read aloud or put a recording on the gramophone. And they'd talk. Sometimes it was simple flirting, other times they'd argue, easing the tension of the day by baiting one another, and occasionally, it was serious and they'd found surprising solace in each other.

She'd look up and he'd be there, sometimes looking out over the plateau, lost in thought, admiring the view, or just determining the weather. He didn't give a meteorological explanation like Challenger and Summerlee, but he could always tell her what to expect. He'd point out the birds flying lower were an indication of rain. That it was because the humidity in the air caused the insects to fly lower and the birds followed their meals. Or that the direction of the wind indicated that a weather change was imminent.

And somewhere along the way she found that when she wandered into a room, it seemed natural to find a spot near the English lord, sometimes just to tease or provoke him with some outrageous statement. She'd confide her worries, although they were usually disguised as complaints. She frequently found herself accompanying him on hunting or scouting trips. She'd grumble, but the reality was if she didn't go, she'd find herself missing him. So she'd voice her objections and then give in. She suspected, based on the gleam in Roxton's eye, that he wasn't fooled by her supposed reluctance. But it had become a game they both relished playing.

After awhile she looked out over the plateau and frowned. "Shouldn't Ned and Veronica be back by now? I thought they were returning with the supplies from the Zanga village early today."

Roxton glanced at the angle of the sun streaming into the treehouse to judge the hour of the day. "I'll give it a bit more time before going after them."

His preoccupied tone drew Marguerite's attention to him. "What are you doing?" There was some unidentifiable metal contraption in his hands.

"Oh, it's a spare part for the windmill. It's not moving freely. I promised Challenger a while back that I'd take a look at it." He fiddled with the gears, not looking up. A number of bolts, wheels, shafts and pinions of various sizes lay scattered on the table.

"What would you know about it?" Marguerite laughed in disbelief.

"I'll have you know that as a lad, every time I could, I'd take my pony down to the village and hang around the blacksmith." His tone was playful. "You'd be surprised at what I learned."

"And at the amount of time you spent teasing all the girls in the village, I wager." Marguerite's tone was gently mocking.

"Only the pretty ones. I'm sure all the boys tried to win a smile from you, when you were a young girl," Roxton teased in return.

Marguerite's face grew solemn. Roxton inwardly cursed himself for his misstep, but stayed silent, unwilling to put his foot further into his mouth. The expedition's linguist bit back a snappish reply. Neither wanted to have to apologize yet again. They usually made quite a muddle of it.

Looking to defuse the situation, Marguerite said in a deliberately off-hand manner, "I told you before, I was gawky as a girl. The boys didn't notice me."

The hunter, rising to his feet, crossed to her so he could stroke her cheek with a fingertip. "I would have," he said quite seriously. Then more lightly, "I've always had a thing for dark, curly hair."

"The better to dip in inkwells, I'm sure." The pair smiled at each other, but Roxton noted the flush of a fever on her otherwise pale cheeks. Roxton's eyes narrowed in concern. _"Whatever those two caught is certainly lingering."_

The sound of the elevator had them turning their heads. "Looks like I won't have to search for Veronica and Malone after all."

**continued **


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Roxton stiffened as he saw their two housemates weren't alone. Unexpected visitors were frequently a cause for concern. Deliberately he moved between Marguerite and the new arrival.

Malone stepped off the elevator with a reassuring grin. "Marguerite, Roxton, we have someone for you to meet."

The newcomer, with a smile for his hostess, politely gestured for her to proceed. He held a spear at his side casually, not menacingly. Veronica stepped tiredly off the lift and to the side so she could see his reaction. Count Bocskai's eyes widened as he studied the treehouse, and stepped after Malone. Veronica followed the pair a little more slowly.

"This is magnificent." Their visitor turned to Veronica with a smile of appreciation. She took the spear from her guest and placed it by the rack with the other weapons. He waved his arm in an expansive gesture. "Truly a wondrous setting for so beautiful a jewel." Veronica couldn't help the colour flooding her cheeks at the praise.

Roxton and Marguerite exchanged a look, biting back smiles at the overblown flattery. The hunter's eyes narrowed as he observed this newcomer with an aristocratic manner glance around the treehouse with a proprietary air.

Moving forward but keeping his voice neutral, Roxton asked, "Would you like to introduce us, Ned?"

"Of course, this is Count Sándor Bocskai, he came to our aid against a raptor pack. He's very handy with a spear and a knife. Sándor, these are two of our friends, Miss Marguerite Krux and Lord Roxton." Malone handled the introductions genially.

"My pleasure, Lord Roxton." The tone was coolly well-mannered, greeting a social equal, but not happy about it. Roxton inclined his head in an equally impassive acknowledgement of the greeting.

The new arrival turned to address Marguerite, prepared to smile winningly, and stopped. He saw the blanket wrapped, dark-haired beauty, fever blotches on her cheeks. Her wan condition was obvious. Something almost like fear crossed his face. "Forgive me, Miss, um.. Krux. Are you ill?"

Roxton, not at all convinced of the harmless nature of their guest, crossed to Marguerite's side, placing his hand on her shoulder, as she answered. "A minor ailment. I think we're recovering." She downplayed the seriousness of the illness.

"We?" asked Sándor, somewhat confused.

"Is Challenger better?" Malone asked. A crash from the lab below was his answer.

"I hope you're satisfied, George. I said you weren't well enough to stay up this long." Summerlee's voice scolded with the impatience that Challenger usually managed to bring out in him.

"I'll never get better lying in bed," Challenger retorted, but he lacked the usual snap in his voice.

"Speaking of bed, I think I'm going to lay down myself. I don't know when I've been so exhausted." Veronica had been unusually silent and now headed to her room.

"Is this sickness contagious?" Sándor asked nervously.

"We didn't think so." Marguerite tilted her head as she considered the doorway to Veronica's room. "That's not like Veronica to be tired so easily." She looked at the reporter. "Malone." The expedition's linguist's turned her head towards Veronica's room.

Ned nodded, his concern matching Marguerite's, and he followed after Veronica needing to satisfy himself of her well-being. Sándor, apparently not convinced that Marguerite's illness wasn't infectious, stood warily by the table, keeping his distance from both Marguerite and Roxton.

Summerlee trudged up the stairs. "Of all the obstinate, stubborn…" The sight of the newcomer cut off his words.

"This is Professor Summerlee, Count. You've met all of us except Professor Challenger," Roxton said by way of introduction.

"A pleasure to meet such a learned man." Sándor's charm was back in place.

Summerlee preened pleasantly. "I do have a bit of a reputation when it comes to botany."

Roxton stood by Marguerite's chair, his hand on her shoulder, fingers rubbing the back of her neck, absently. Her illness had intensified his tendency to hover. There was also an instinctive need to make it clear to any stranger that he had a prior claim on the dark-haired beauty. "Did you get Challenger back to his bed, Professor?"

"Of course not. That would have been the sensible course. At least now maybe he'll stay put in his chair, instead of trying to get everything himself."

"Malone and Veronica are back, Arthur. Maybe you should check on her. She might be coming down with something," Marguerite suggested, her unease over their housemate obvious.

"You don't think it's the same thing…?" Summerlee began echoing Marguerite's worry.

"Probably not," the hunter reassured the elderly botanist. "Challenger and Marguerite collapsed. They didn't quietly go to their rooms and lie down." Roxton grimaced at the memory of that trip back to the treehouse. "It would have been much easier if they had." And he still shuddered at the thought of the subsequent days.

For nearly a week as the fever had raged, Challenger and Marguerite's survival had been in grave doubt. As they lay so very ill, Summerlee and the others had kept a close watch on their two patients as well as the hunter to make sure he didn't succumb to the fever even as they nursed their two friends. When the nobleman proved unaffected by the mysterious disease, Summerlee theorized that direct contact with whatever had caused their illness was necessary to infect someone. He was convinced now more than ever that the cause was in the contents of the broken burial urn.

It was a mercy that the hunter stayed healthy. The four had their hands full with the constant round-the-clock nursing and the other chores necessary to life in the treehouse. It had only been these past few days that their housemates began to feel confident in their recovery. Other activities had been resumed. Supplies were low so Ned and Veronica had gone to the Zangas for some of their needs. Roxton had gathered fruit and vegetables, done some trapping, took care of chores, staying close to the treehouse in case he was needed.

Malone rejoined them. "There's no fever. She's just sleeping. I guess she and Assai had a lot to catch up on last night." Ned's brow wrinkled. "She didn't seem that tired this morning."

"If you're sure she's okay, I'd best get our dinner together." Summerlee looked pointedly at the windmill parts Roxton had left out. The hunter surveyed their new visitor, then glanced at Marguerite. Satisfied that this Count would keep his distance, Roxton began to collect the gears he'd been working on.

"So tell me, Mr….?" Summerlee paused inquiringly as he was retrieving the rabbits Roxton had trapped and cleaned earlier.

"I am Count Sándor Bocskai, at your service, Professor." He gave a slight bow.

"How did you come to be here, Count?" Summerlee's hand hovered over an array of herbs as he chose the appropriate seasonings.

Their new guest paused for a moment before he answered. "I've been here quite some time." Sándor realized that Summerlee and the others were still looking expectantly at him. "I…or rather my family ended up here some seventy years ago."

Roxton reached past Sándor to gather up more of the windmill parts he'd been working on. Their guest backed up suddenly bumping the table. Several of the parts fell to the floor.

"My apologies. I am not usually so clumsy." Sándor picked up one of the shafts that had rolled across the room. He laid it back on the table, evading contact with hunter.

"No problem," Roxton replied easily as he picked up the remaining paraphernalia from his repair efforts.

"Where is your family from, Sándor?" Ned had his journal out and had started taking notes. He wanted to get back to the previous conversation. Roxton listened as he stowed the assorted mechanical odds and ends into a wooden box.

"You would not have heard of it. Our castle was near a small village, Miclosoara."

Marguerite frowned as she searched her memory. "Miclosoara? That's in the Carpathian Mountains. The area called Erde because of the forests."

Their visitor looked at Marguerite closely for the first time, surprised. He had avoided eye contact with her once he realized she was ill. "Yes, do you know the region?"

"I spent some time in Vienna." Roxton, his back to the others, raised his eyebrows at Marguerite's statement and smirked at her, reminded of the reputation she had cultivated as the Black Widow of Vienna. Marguerite pointedly ignored him and continued. "While there, I traveled to Budapest and Bucharest several times."

Sándor said, "Then you understand how things are." He turned away, obviously unwilling to talk about the subject anymore. His tone had been polite, but distant.

"Why did they leave?" Ned wasn't looking up and didn't see the dark look that crossed Sándor's face.

"Life had become untenable," the newcomer said coolly, unwilling to expand on the explanation.

Marguerite grimaced at Roxton, aware that her statement had opened a can of worms; a reminder of two countries where the conflict was no less intense, even when not openly indulged. There had been a great deal of unrest between the various factions in Austria and Hungary over the past century. The assassination of Franz Ferdinand had only been the latest example of how dire the situation could become at any moment. Perhaps Sandor's family was caught on the wrong side of some political issue or an ethnic confrontation.

Ned hadn't caught the undercurrent. He was focused on his notes and on the location Marguerite had mentioned. "Carpathian Mountains? Isn't that, or rather wasn't that, Transylvania?"

**continued **


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

A crash from below prevented an answer.

"Confound it!" Challenger's voice was raised in vexation.

Summerlee's eyebrows went up, out of patience with Challenger's stubbornness in staying up and working in the lab. Roxton grinned. "I'll take care of him, Professor."

From below they could hear Roxton coaxing the scientist. "Come on, George, why don't we get you upstairs so you can relax for a few minutes. Summerlee's making dinner and we have a guest for you to meet."

Marguerite smiled at Sándor, enchantingly. "You're being used, Count Bocskai Sándor, as an inducement. I do hope you don't mind." The dulcet tone of her voice had Ned watching her suspiciously. Their companion normally only brought out this overly sweet manner when she was angling for something.

Marguerite was mildly curious to see what effect her charm might have on their visitor. Information gathering took many forms and it almost always was useful.

Sándor was not proof against Marguerite's allure. He smiled winningly in his turn, his blue eyes bright; but, she noted, he still kept his distance from her. "I'm happy to help such a hospitable group of people, especially such a sophisticated lady as yourself. I see you are familiar with our manner of address," impressed with her understanding of his country's custom as she used his surname ahead of his given name, "but please, someone so enchanting must call me Sándor." His voice was equally cajoling.

Below in the lab, Roxton spoke in a tone only Challenger could hear. "I want to get your impression of this blighter, George."

Challenger, although gratified that his opinion was being sought out, was still reluctant about leaving his lab and joining the others. However, he knew their safety might depend on identifying a potential threat to their home, so he carefully blotted his notes to set the ink, and put his pen and journal away. Besides, truth be told, he was feeling a bit worn out and this was a way out that didn't mean admitting Summerlee was right.

With Roxton's assistance Challenger negotiated the stairway to the great room of the treehouse.

"This is Count Bocskai, whom I mentioned, Challenger." Roxton aided the scientist in sitting in a chair near Marguerite. The hunter stood near Marguerite's side not liking the smile on Bocskai's face as he regarded the dark haired woman.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Professor Challenger. Your friends are fortunate to have two such learned men with them." Bocskai bowed from where he stood. He made no attempt to approach the red haired scientist, but his polished smile took in both Summerlee and Challenger .

Challenger was not unmoved by the flattery, smiled and offered a compliment in return. "Good to meet you as well. I understand we have reason to be grateful to you." The scientist nodded towards Malone.

"I was very thankful of Sándor's skill with a spear. Both barrels of the rifle were empty." Malone paused, still a little discomforted by not being given the opportunity to handle the last dinosaur, but determined to be fair. "And when that last raptor jumped us – well, I haven't seen anyone make a throw with a knife like he did other than Veronica."

"Well done, Count," Roxton approved. Anyone who aided their comrades deserved some leeway in the hunter's mind.

"Thank you, your lordship." Sándor replied formally. Marguerite noted the Count's punctilious manner. Clearly, while he was very genial on the surface, he obviously deferred to a title.

"Just Roxton will do."

"Speaking of Veronica, where is she?" Challenger looked around.

"Right here." Veronica appeared in her doorway.

"Are you feeling okay?" Ned was solicitous. Both he and Sándor had brightened with the jungle girl's appearance.

"I'm fine now." Veronica had a smile for Ned's concern.

"Allow me." With a smooth and deliberate manner, Sándor held a chair at the table for the blonde beauty. Veronica was delighted with his formal manners. It was what she read of in her parents' books, but had not often found on the plateau. While the men in the treehouse were certainly courteous, it was an absentminded courtesy. Roxton would, at times, be more attentive to Marguerite. And Veronica, when seeing that, would occasionally feel the lack, wishing Malone might treat her in such an elegant manner. To receive such consideration from one who was apparently both educated and jungle-savvy was gratifying.

"You're sure you're all right?" Summerlee left his station by the cooking fire to check on Veronica.

As he stepped forward his foot came down on one of the missed windmill parts that had been knocked to the floor. Summerlee flailed his arms as his foot went out from under him. Before he could tumble, Sándor gripped his arm. Summerlee's hand grabbed Sándor's shoulder to maintain his balance.

"Oh my!" The mild exclamation was all the botanist could say. His heart pounded as the adrenaline flowed, leaving him shaken as he regained his balance.

"Easy, Professor." Roxton started forward as Ned got to the other side of Summerlee.

"Thank you, Count." The elderly professor smiled at his rescuer.

Between Sándor and Malone they lowered Summerlee into a chair at the table. Veronica hovered as Roxton scooped up the offending piece of metal. It was from the windmill parts he'd been working on. "Sorry, Summerlee, my fault."

"Why don't you rest, I'll take care of finishing dinner," Veronica offered as she turned to the cooking fire.

"No, please, let me," Count Bocskai interrupted pleasantly. "After all you have done, by inviting me here, it is the least I can do. Besides everything is so well in hand here, there is not much left to be done." He dropped his voice low. "I would like to do this small thingfor you." The last words were spoken, with obvious intensity, directly to Veronica, who smiled, flattered by his undisguised admiration.

As the Count took over the cooking detail his eye was caught by an oil painting of yellow flowers on the nearby easel. "What a charming painting!"

Summerlee removed his spectacles and wiped them carefully. "It's an orchid, an Oncidium. The common name is Dancing Dolls." Summerlee smiled as he replaced his glasses and regarded the artwork.

"Did you paint it, Professor?" Sándor divided his attention between the food preparation and the painting.

"No, although it was painted for me. Veronica is quite the talented artist." Summerlee spoke with the admiration of one painter for another. He beamed a smile at her, silently expressing his gratitude for the present once more.

"You are a most remarkable lady. So very skilled. So many talents."

Veronica's cheeks colored in pleasure as the Count regarded her. To cover her confusion she crossed to the gramophone. "Would you like to hear some music?" At Sándor's nod she selected a disk and carefully placed the needle on the record.

The strains of classical music filled the treehouse. The Count's smile grew wider. "Ah, Bach." His pleasure in the music was unmistakable.

Summerlee leaned back in his chair, eyes closing as he also enjoyed the music. The Count and Veronica exchanged the pleased smiles of music lovers. Veronica was delighted that here was another shared interest.

Sándor's fascination with Veronica was apparent. She bloomed under the admiration of such an obviously sophisticated man. Marguerite watched the whole proceedings assiduously, weighing their significance. She resisted the urge to kick Ned under the table. Until Veronica and Malone decided to work things out, no amount of interference would solve anything.

**continued **


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Dinner was an enjoyable meal.

Veronica and Malone first recounted the news from the Zanga village.

"We need to keep an eye out for those hunting parties or raiding parties, or whatever they are." Roxton frowned a bit. "We'd best go out in groups for a while. I suspect I saw a couple of them earlier today," Roxton divulged his prior encounter with the mysterious observers .

"You evaded them so easily?" Sándor was thoughtful.

Roxton shrugged neutrally. He wasn't one to deny his skills, but he didn't brag about them either.

"Did your parents ever mention them?" Challenger asked.

Veronica shook her head. "Nothing that I can recall. From what the Zanga said they normally tend to stay much further south. They pretty much keep to themselves."

"What did you make of them, Count?" Roxton tipped his head to the side as he regarded their guest.

"I made it my business to studiously avoid them, Lord Roxton. They did not seem interested in learned discussion or a leisurely meal." The Count waved a hand at the food in front of them.

"This was wonderful, Count." Veronica was thrilled with their guest. Bocskai raised an eyebrow at the use of his title. "I mean, Sándor," Veronica corrected herself relishing his charming smile. She had taken a particular delight in recounting the Count's expertise with spear and knife to the other treehouse members. They'd been suitably impressed.

Now he was showing himself capable in other ways, refined manners, an appreciation for the elegancies of life, pleasant conversation. Veronica was sure Ned had noticed how a man like Sándor considered her worthy of all the little courtesies and attention. She hadn't missed Ned's frown each time the Count made her an object of his gallantry or she praised their guest. Perhaps it was Marguerite's influence that made her enjoy Ned's discomfiture.

"Yes, I must say, you've stepped in most ably," Summerlee praised the Count. He stifled a yawn.

"You'll have to look to your laurels, Professor," Roxton remarked easily as he raised his glass in salute to the newcomer. No smile reached his eyes. He couldn't say why, but he had still doubts about this guest of theirs.

The Count sat near Veronica and Summerlee, who, once again, dozed off in the chair at the table.

"Poor dear, he's worn out." Veronica looked over at the botanist.

"Taking care of Marguerite is enough to wear anyone out," Roxton slyly remarked from the other side of the table where he sat next to the linguist. "Hey!" His exclamation came as Marguerite swatted him with her napkin.

His smile was brighter than the teasing would normally have warranted. Marguerite seemed to be better this evening, responding to his raillery with a liveliness that had been missing these past days. Challenger had expounded on several theories. After the worry the pair had caused, it was a relief to see them getting back to normal, their fevers subsiding. Even a lecture from the red haired scientist was welcome. An afternoon of sitting up and a meal with everyone had done the invalids a world of good.

"So you saved Veronica and Malone, Count. We can't tell you how grateful we are." Challenger leaned back feeling more like himself than he had for several days.

"Not nearly as grateful as I was," Ned remarked lightly.

"The way he used that spear was impressive." Veronica was enthusiastic. "You should have him go spear hunting with you, Roxton."

"Yes, well now that things are getting back to normal, maybe we can." Roxton was ambivalent about spending more time with this newcomer.

"Let me show you a room you can use." Veronica rose from the table and smiled at Sándor. "I'll help you settle in." The Count rose with a smile in return following the jungle girl to a room on the lower level. The friendly chatter over music and art faded as the pair descended companionably down the stairs.

"So Malone, what do you think of our guest?" Roxton relaxed for a moment, an arm stretched across to the back of Marguerite's chair, his hand unobtrusively toying with the ends of her hair.

"He did save us," Malone said slowly.

"But?" Marguerite prompted. The reporter's tone had conveyed a feeling belied by the words.

"But he's too….polished, smooth. Always says the right thing. The perfect gentleman." Malone was aware of how ridiculous it sounded.

"All the things you and Roxton aren't," Marguerite pithily commented. "Ouch!" This was in response to Roxton's painful tug on her hair. "What was that for?" she demanded.

"I didn't have an inkwell handy." Roxton crooked an eyebrow at his feisty companion.

"Thank heavens for small mercies," Marguerite tossed back as Ned and Challenger looked on, baffled by the exchange. She got back to the subject at hand. "Is that your real opinion of the Count, Ned, or are you jealous?"

That hit too close to home. "You seemed to find him charming!" Ned's tone was somewhat spiteful.

Roxton frowned at the beautiful woman next to him. His instincts, like Ned's, found something disturbing about Bocskai. The thought of Marguerite pulling some of her shenanigans on him didn't sit right.

"No, I found out that he reacts like any man." Marguerite paused. "Almost." She considered the Count's actions since he got there. The determined way he avoided contact with Challenger, Roxton, and herself.

"Stay away from him, Marguerite. We don't know enough about him." Roxton studied her a moment. Afraid the dark-haired beauty wasn't taking him seriously enough, he added. "I mean it."

"Relax, John." Marguerite rested a hand on his arm, reassuring him. "Bocskai won't come anywhere near me. You would have thought my name was Typhoid Mary, the way he's acted."

Summerlee's eyes had fluttered open at their words. He'd heard the last bit of conversation. "Do you think that this Count knows something more about this illness? Something we should know?"

"Nonsense." Challenger spoke gruffly. "Marguerite and I are recovering. None of you have been infected. Both of us have improved steadily." The scientist refused to concede the possibility that he and Marguerite wouldn't be fine and that there was anything of importance he'd hadn't discovered.

"But what if the others are infected now?" Marguerite asked, her worried frown taking in Roxton. "Arthur, both you and Veronica had such a sudden need for sleep…."

"We'll take precautions." At first Summerlee meant his words to just soothe Marguerite but as he realized the validity of her worries he added, "It's really the only sensible thing to do."

"But what precautions should we take with this Count? I've heard some pretty weird tales about Transylvania and the Carpathian Mountains." Malone couldn't quite manage a casual tone.

"This isn't a Bram Stoker novel, Malone," Challenger chided. "And it's not Transylvania anymore, technically it's Hungary." Challenger considered the matter for a moment. "Of course there's no saying how things have turned out since we left."

Everyone was silent for a few moments, contemplating a world left behind and how out of step they might be when they returned.

"Now it's time we get the two of you back resting. This is the longest either of you has been up in the past ten days." Summerlee spoke briskly, anxious for his own bed.

At the white-haired scientist's words Roxton gallantly stood and offered his arm to help Marguerite rise.

Malone got to his feet to give Challenger a hand. No matter what their disagreements, all of them knew it was important to stick together, especially with a newcomer in the treehouse. Despite his reluctance to show a weakness, the older man placed his hand on the reporter's shoulder to balance himself as he walked and gave him a grateful grin.

"I'd best follow to make sure Challenger doesn't decide to stop at the lab." Summerlee ambled along behind the two men.

Marguerite turned to descend the stairs, but realized Roxton was just standing there, frowning. He came to a decision and then walked over to the storage box where they kept extra guns. Taking out one of the smaller pistols he checked it to make sure it was fully loaded. Returning to her side he handed it to her.

"Keep this with you." He pressed the gun into her hand. She looked at it and then at his eyes. They were deadly serious and worried. She nodded and slipped it into her pocket. "And don't try any more foolery with him. I've got a bad feeling about this."

Marguerite couldn't decide if it was overprotectiveness or just jealousy that was affecting the hunter. Maybe some combination of those emotions. Whatever it was, it was part of how he would always react when he thought she was in danger. She stretched and pressed a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Roxton smiled and swung her up into his arms.

"I can walk!" Marguerite protested.

"Take advantage of the pampering while you can," Roxton advised lightly. His mouth twisted in a grin as he carried her down the stairs. "Soon you'll need to make up for the work you missed while you were ill."

"You're all heart, Roxton." Her tone was sardonic.

He stood her on the floor of her room. "Do you need help getting to bed?"

Marguerite arched her eyebrows as she just looked at the hunter.

Roxton tipped his head, eyes bright with laughter. "Well, I can dream." He closed her in his arms. Marguerite rested her head against his chest. They stood there quietly for a long moment. Challenger's voice could be heard from his room, frustrated that he wasn't able to detour to the lab. Summerlee's slower steps creaked a board here and there on his way to his room. Veronica was bidding the Count a good night and then her lighter tread joined Malone's on the stairs.

Marguerite raised her head, and with her hand at the back of his neck, encouraged the hunter to bend his head a bit. The kiss was long and slow. Hands gently, tenderly stroked shoulders and backs. When they finally released each other's lips they were breathless. Marguerite clung weak-kneed, Roxton's arms tightened the embrace unable to let go, but both knew they couldn't proceed. Footsteps from the floor above emphasized the point. The lack of privacy was a frequent irritant.

Roxton swallowed, mouth dry. "I'd better go." But he made no move to release Marguerite. She nodded against his chest and then with an effort leaned away. They looked in each other's eyes. She stroked his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her palm.

"I think it's time we plan another holiday." Roxton tried for a lighter note to ease the moment. "A little hunting, a campfire, a single blanket," his finger traced her lips and then his hand was smoothing back her hair, "and a beautiful woman."

"I think I'll insist on Brighton Beach or maybe the Isle of Wight, not a safari," Marguerite teased, aiding in the effort to cool things down. She gripped his arm enjoying the sensual feel of the muscle underneath her fingertips.

"Don't you want to be ready for when we get back to England and I decide it's time for another expedition? You won't make me go alone, will you?" His tone was decidedly coaxing. The fingers of both hands were at the back of her neck, his thumbs stroking her jaw. One hand slipped down to her waist, prepared to pull her back into his arms again.

Marguerite reached down and stilled his hand before it could wander elsewhere. She stretched and kissed his mouth lightly. Roxton closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, striving for control. He kissed her forehead.

"Keep that gun close," he admonished quietly, aware of how noises could carry in the treehouse.

"Be careful as well," Marguerite responded equally solemn. Roxton nodded and left.

Marguerite wasn't surprised a short while later to hear the scrape of wood on the treehouse floor. She knew precisely what it was. Roxton had positioned a chair inside the doorway of his room to enable him to watch for any suspicious behavior on their guest's part this night.

**continued **


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The morning found most of the explorers up and about. Summerlee was making a pot of tea as Malone ground coffee beans.

"Be sure you make enough for me." Marguerite ascended the stairs unaided, albeit slower than normal.

Roxton was bringing a bowl of fruit to the table and smiled at her. At his inquiring look, she patted her pocket. He nodded his approval of her being armed. A glimpse of the table had a broad grin crossing her face. A crucifix lay out in the middle of the table.

Roxton, seeing what caught her attention, exchanged a glance with her and tipped his head in Malone's direction. Marguerite rolled her eyes. They both found amusement in the reporter's reliance on sensational fiction for solutions for day-to-day life on the plateau.

Marguerite couldn't resist the chance to tease the reporter and crossed over to get a glass of water near where Malone was working. She leaned close to him. "So what's the plan?" Her voice was lowered conspiratorially. "You've got the crucifix, should I get the wooden stake?"

Malone knew when he was being mocked. "You do want coffee, don't you?" He also knew the threat most likely to keep Marguerite off his back. He smirked at her, proud that he was able to get his own shot in.

"Now that's just cruel, Ned." Marguerite eyes danced with mischief.

Any further response was forestalled by the appearance of Challenger, Veronica and Sándor. Veronica kept an eye on the scientist to make sure the stairs didn't prove too daunting. The Count followed behind the pair, appreciating the view of Veronica.

Bocskai's appraisal of the jungle girl didn't go unnoticed. Malone's jealousy was fired anew. Marguerite glanced knowingly at Roxton. While they both knew Veronica could handle most of the dangers of the jungle, neither forgot how she had fallen prey to a more sophisticated man. A predator of this sort was still a novel experience to Veronica.

As the Count approached the table he noticed the crucifix, picking it up he turned it casually in his hand, studying it. "Beautiful workmanship. Is it yours?" He looked at Veronica, holding it out admiringly.

"It's mine." Ned took it from the Count and put it in his pocket. The reporter covered his disappointment that this tried and true method hadn't revealed a monster like the ones described in the books he so enjoyed. _"It wasn't fair,"_ he thought, _"the heroes in the penny-dreadfuls never had these kinds of problems."_

The Count walked over to take a cup of proffered tea from a genial Summerlee. Veronica, behind Sándor's back, frowned at Ned, perplexed. Ned shook his head, warning her not to say anything. She didn't like the idea of the deception, but the slight inclination of her head let the reporter know she'd follow his lead. Ned studiously avoided Marguerite's overly innocent smile and Roxton's amused grin.

"It was part of a pirate's treasure. I was planning on including a description in my journal." Ned's off-the-cuff explanation impressed the hunter although Veronica frowned again. Sándor didn't notice anything amiss.

"You been giving Neddy-boy lessons?" Roxton crossed over to where Marguerite stood, his back to the others in the room. His voice was meant for her ears only.

"I always thought fiction was his forte." Marguerite was equally adept at keeping a conversation private. "He needs to work on his delivery, however."

"Lord Roxton, Veronica tells me you might be able to lend me a weapon. She has offered to help me scout the area around this impressive structure so that I might make plans to return home." The polite tones were innocuous, but the hunter was still wary.

Ned, thinking that perhaps his jealousy had gotten him carried away, decided to make amends. "That's a good idea and we can keep an eye out for the warriors from that tribe the Zanga told us about."

Veronica smiled approvingly at this willingness to be part of the scouting party. She was eager to see that the Count felt a part of their group.

"Are you familiar with weapons like ours, Count? They're quite dangerous for the untrained." Roxton, taking Marguerite's elbow to escort her to the table, kept his tone civil, but he wasn't anxious to put a gun in the hands of this newcomer.

"I know something about them," their guest temporized. "Perhaps, Lord Roxton, you will consent to join us in this excursion? I understand from Veronica that you are highly skilled with firearms." Sándor's tone was formally courteous, as if he thought he should say something, but wasn't convinced of the veracity of his statement.

"Some have said." Roxton replied to the praise in a studied offhand manner as he pulled out a chair for Marguerite who smirked at the false modesty. Roxton refused to glance at her as he continued. "But I will definitely join you."

The hunter approved of this scheme. He'd have Bocskai under his eye, away from Marguerite, Summerlee and Challenger. Ned would undoubtedly carefully chaperone the Count and Veronica, so he'd need not worry about any complications in that department. In the meantime he could evaluate how good this Count was with firearms. Information that was definitely worth having. He could also do a little scouting to see if the pair he saw yesterday were still hanging about. Based on what the Zanga had said, the strangers shouldn't be interested in the treehouse. Still, all the same, he'd have a word with Marguerite before he left.

"You two get plenty of rest today." After breakfast Veronica was more herself this morning, well-rested and concerned about her friends. She made sure both Marguerite and Challenger were listening.

Catching their eyes she regarded them sternly. "You don't want a relapse now that you've fought off the last of the fever." She also wanted to ensure that Summerlee would be able to manage on his own in keeping these two stubborn members of the household in line. Challenger and Marguerite acquiesced with a patently false meekness.

The Count smiled at Veronica's care of her companions. "Indeed it is good to see that the two of you have recovered. Are you quite sure that you no longer have a fever?" His manner was solicitous.

"Their temperatures are completely normal." Summerlee announced. "I credit my chamomile and herb tea."

"Nonsense, it was my _Penicillium notatum_ fungus that I've been studying for the past two years. It's proved most efficacious in a variety of situations." The two scientists headed off to the lab still arguing about whose remedy effected the cure.

With a laugh Veronica turned to check on Sándor, making sure he had a pack and supplies. She called over her shoulder to Roxton and Malone, "We'll meet you on the ground." Veronica shouldered her bag as she turned to the Count. "Will the people of your village be worried about you being gone so long?"

"I live alone. I am grateful to you for both letting me stay here and for the pleasure of your company." He bowed gesturing for her to enter the elevator first. "Especially such beautiful company."

The elevator began its descent.

"Take care of yourself," Marguerite said quietly to Roxton. She adjusted one of the straps on his pack. "Don't turn your back on him."

"Worried about me?" Roxton teased to ease her mind.

"According to you I'm behind on my chores already. I don't need the extra work stitching you up." Marguerite decided to cut the smug hunter down to size.

Roxton grinned at the comeback appreciatively. Then quietly he said, "Do me a favor and keep a rifle handy, just in case someone turns up unexpectedly."

"You think that those two you saw yesterday might be by?" Marguerite frowned as she considered the matter.

"If I thought that, I wouldn't be leaving. But better safe than sorry, right?"

"Let's get down there." Ned kept trying to convince himself that nothing was wrong with the Count, but somehow he couldn't suppress his suspicions.

Still concerned, Roxton looked at Marguerite one more time. She smiled encouragingly. "I'll keep an eye on things."

Reassured, Roxton joined Ned on the elevator. The only way they survived on the plateau was depending on each other. After all this time, he knew Marguerite could handle a couple of interlopers.

Roxton and Ned stepped off the elevator to the thump of knife hitting wood. One of Veronica's throwing knives was stuck in the painted target across the treehouse yard. They'd set it up years ago when Veronica decided to teach the reporter how to throw a knife. The two of them and Roxton still used it for practice.

Veronica was smiling as she pulled the knife from the bull's eye. "Here, Sándor, see what you think of this knife." She gently tossed it to him, a dangerous stunt if he was a novice, but she'd already seen his skill demonstrated, a skill which rivaled her own.

The Count panicked! Eyes on the knife, none of the explorers noticed. With a gasp, Sándor fumbled, trying to grasp the handle as the blade spiraled towards him. He sliced his fingers as the knife fell to the ground.

"Good lord!" Veronica ran to him, frantic. "I'm so sorry. How badly did it cut you?" Roxton and Malone rushed to her side. Ned pressed his clean handkerchief into her hands. The Count inhaled sharply as Veronica bound up his fingers and pulled his hand away from her. At his reaction, Veronica feared she'd pressed too hard on the wound. "Oh, no, I hurt you worse."

"Calm yourself, drágám." The Count's manner was once again polished and urbane. "The fault was entirely mine." He reached down with his uninjured hand and picked up the knife hilt. He flipped it midair, grasped the blade and in a smooth move launched it across the yard. It landed smack in the middle of the bull's eye. "You see I am fine."

"Let's take you up and get that bandaged properly. You probably shouldn't use the hand for a while. Stay here today." Veronica urged their guest.

"Nonsense, it was just a scratch. This will do fine for a bandage." The Count dismissed her concerns graciously. "I cannot miss this opportunity."

**continued **


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

They weren't too far from the treehouse when Roxton froze in his tracks. Veronica and Malone responded immediately, doing the same. The Count took a couple more steps but stopped in response to Veronica's outstretched hand and a finger to her lips signaling him to silence.

Roxton nodded to the brush on the side of the trail. The four slipped into the bushes and waited. The two explorers pulled out pistols, ready to act. A couple of men were furtively walking down the trail. They wore loose trousers, billowing tunics that were tied with colorful sashes that contrasted with the pale colors of their tunics and trousers. Before they reached the explorers' position they turned onto a path perpendicular to the trail the explorers were using. A path that would take them away from the treehouse, Roxton noted, relieved. After a long wait, Roxton and Veronica silently conferred with a look and a nod; the four left their hiding place.

"Very good, Lord Roxton. That was most impressive." Count Bocskai eyed the hunter in a new light. Apparently his new-found companions' words were not completely based on partiality. The English nobleman was indeed a skilled outdoorsman.

Roxton's lips curved slightly in acknowledgement of the Count's words, but he was more concerned about the men they'd seen. "Were those two part of the group the Zanga told you about?"

"They match the description." Veronica was leading the way down the trail as Ned nodded his agreement.

"They're dressed like the pair I saw, yesterday," Roxton confirmed.

The pace set by Veronica wasn't very slow, but it was periodically interrupted as she stopped to collect plants for the two scientists. They had some specific requirements and occasionally she'd notice a specimen that she thought they'd like.

The explorers were about an hour and a half out when Roxton again motioned everyone to be quiet.

"Raptors?" Malone asked softly.

Roxton shook his head and smiled. "Dinner." His trained eye had picked out his quarry through the tangle of branches and leaves. Carefully raising his rifle he took aim at bird a good two hundred paces away, the branch some thirty feet up. Before he could shoot the bird took off. Leading it slightly, he took the bird down in flight.

"That was incredible!" Only the Count was surprised by the shot. After more than three years on the plateau, Veronica and Malone were accustomed to Roxton's skill.

"Another addition to the menu. I wonder what Summerlee will come up with for this," Malone said, in way of acknowledging the hunter's skill. He went ahead to pick up their prize.

"But this is so impressive. From such a distance, amid all those trees and a moving target, besides." Sándor turned to Veronica. "Have you ever seen the like of a shot like that?"

"Actually, I thought it was high and to the left. Not up to your usual standards, Roxton." Stretching to ease her muscles, Veronica turned and teased the hunter.

Roxton grinned. "Did Marguerite give you instructions to be sure and deflate my ego?" He took the game bird from Malone and stepping away from the trail, split the neck of the bird and bled the carcass. He removed the undigested food at the same time.

The attitudes of Veronica and Malone towards the feat of this English lord made even more of an impression on Sándor. To regard such an accomplishment as commonplace and not even especially noteworthy indicated that he was indeed a man whose skills were to be desired.

"Well at least we haven't seen any further sign of those Magyars," Veronica remarked, suppressing a yawn, as Roxton returned with the game.

"Who?" the English nobleman inquired, his attention caught, not sure he heard the word correctly.

"They're those people that Sándor and the Zanga warned us about. I guess we didn't mention the name when we told you about them." The reporter looked at the hunter's wrinkled brow. "Have you heard of them?"

"May I try one of your weapons?" The Count's eagerness to test the weapons distracted the hunter from what he was about to say.

Unable to think of a reason why not, Roxton tilted his head in a noncommittal gesture. He offered a pistol to Bocskai. The Count took the gun, and graciously proffered his hand to Roxton to shake. "I am anxious to gain some of your remarkable skill, Lord Roxton."

Roxton gave a slight smile of appreciation of the compliment as his hand was firmly gripped by the Count.

Sándor turned and pointed to a tree about seventy-five paces away. "The crooked branch." Without hesitation he brought up the pistol and fired. Bark from the slendar target flew in all directions.

"Wow!" Ned looked in amazement.

"That's incredible, Sándor." Veronica's admiration shone from her to see him demonstrate yet another ability. He smiled and inclined his head in appreciation of her words.

"I couldn't have done better," Roxton granted. He felt obliged to acknowledge the skill the Count demonstrated. He shook his head to clear it.

"We should do some more hunting." Sándor was apparently anxious to display his ability, especially since it garnered such a positive reaction from Veronica.

"I'm not sure we need that much more," Ned pointed out. The Count freezing in place, obviously listening to something else, forestalled any further comment. Roxton and Veronica paused and nodded. Without a word all four melted back into the bushes encroaching on the trail.

The two Magyars they saw previously now furtively drew near the trail. The hidden group suspected that the gunfire had attracted their attention. The Magyars were still some distance away as they saw the damage done by Sándor's demonstration of his abilities. One man nudged the other and drew his attention to the shattered remains of the tree branch the Count had demolished.

Veronica tapped Ned on the shoulder and held out her hand for his gun. According to the Zanga the raiding parties were looking for a man, so she should be safe. And her companions wouldn't let her come to any harm no matter what. She could throw the Magyars off their track._ "Marguerite would be proud of me."_ The stray thought crossed her mind as she straightened her shoulders and willed away the weariness that tugged at her, then stepped out of the concealing brush behind the Magyars.

"What do you want?" Her voice was appropriately cool. The men wheeled around. They noticed the pistol she held.

"You did that?" One of the Magyars pointed to the tree.

"I can do better. Want to see?" Veronica gestured with the gun, an implied threat.

The two Magyars looked at each other and came to a decision. The first one spoke again.

"We will leave you. We wish you no harm. Be warned, your gun will do you no good against the one we seek."

As Veronica watched, the Magyars retraced their steps. When they were out of sight, the others joined her.

"Let's head back." Roxton was conscious of the edges of fatigue. A thought worried him._ "I can't be coming down with whatever Marguerite and Challenger had. Not after all this time."_ No matter what was causing it, he felt the best thing would be to be back at the treehouse.

Veronica readily agreed. _"Maybe, I'll take Sándor to the pond. A little relaxation after the tension of these past days would be good. And a dip in the pond will restore my energy."_

The return trip home was uneventful except when Sándor drew them to a halt. Eyes flickering, he unerringly dispatched another bird. "We will have a proper feast tonight," he announced as he, too, field dressed his kill.

**continued **


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

At the treehouse, Summerlee fussed with his paints, forgotten these past days as he tended his companions. He happily contemplated which specimen to illustrate, finally settling on a fern. This variation of Rhodea had been extinct for some 300 million years and the fossils didn't do the delicate coloration justice.

Challenger sat nearby reviewing his research notes as he decided where to pick up on his work that had fallen by the wayside. He was beginning to lose faith that improving balloon travel would help them escape the plateau, however it might make surveying and studying the terrain easier. Of course then he still had several experiments with pharmaceuticals to begin all over again. The periodic observations had been foregone when he was ill. It might be wise to get them underway once more.

Marguerite, on the bench by the balcony railing, idly turned the pages of the French history book that lay on her lap. Unable to concentrate, she wasn't reading. Nebulous worries nagged at her. Sewing that had been awaiting her attention these past two weeks lay nearby, neglected. She lacked the patience for that as well. Her eyes were focused on the electric fence that guarded the treehouse. Her rifle was within arm's reach. She wished Roxton, Veronica, and Malone were safely back at the treehouse.

Her vigilance was rewarded as the Count and her friends came into view. Marguerite started as she watched Roxton stumble slightly through the gate of the perimeter fence. From the distance she couldn't see any obvious wound. He steadied himself, but she still waited impatiently for the elevator to bring up the four.

The hunting party stepped off the elevator. Ned held aloft two birds by the feet.

"You had excellent luck today, Roxton." Challenger looked up from his notes to greet their arrival.

"Roxton only shot one of them. Sándor bagged the other." Veronica announced proudly. The Count gloated slightly at her words.

Roxton gave a quiet smile as he stowed his hat and guns on the rack by the elevator. He stretched a bit and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"You have a remarkable range of talents, Count," Challenger remarked with abstract curiosity. He was more interested in the birds brought back, studying them for classification. The Count smiled and inclined his head.

"Did you hurt yourself today, Count? Would you like me to look at it?" Summerlee offered kindly as he gestured to the Count's fingers still wrapped in the makeshift bandage.

"Please let him, Sándor. I feel so guilty. It was all my fault." Veronica looked distressed at the reminder of the morning's accident.

"It was a minor thing, I should not have been taken unawares. You should not fret over it." The Count was pleased with Veronica's solicitousness.

"I don't mind," Summerlee persisted. He wiped his paint-splattered hands on a nearby rag.

"No, no, too much has been made of it. It is perfectly fine." He stepped away from the elderly botanist. Looking to change the subject he asked, "How are your patients, Professor?"

"They seem fully recovered, just regaining their strength." Summerlee began to inspect the birds Ned had laid on the table used for food preparation.

Veronica wandered to the balcony to look out over the jungle. Ned trailed behind her, hoping for a word.

Marguerite joined Roxton as he headed towards the stairs to lower level. "Are you all right, John?" Her hand rested on his upper arm. She kept her voice low.

He covered her hand with his own. "I'll be fine. I didn't sleep that well." He, too, spoke quietly, unwilling to draw the attention of the others.

"I'm not surprised. A chair doesn't make much of a bed," Marguerite remarked astringently. Roxton grinned at her ruefully, unsurprised that she'd been aware of his late night vigil, and started down the stairs. He didn't see the perplexed frown that covered her face as she noticed the Count watching Roxton from across the room. It didn't make sense but the word that popped into her mind as she saw Sándor's expression was hunger.

On the balcony Veronica and Ned were arguing in hushed tones.

"I'm telling you, Veronica, we don't know enough about this guy."

"He saved us from those raptors, he's been nothing but polite. He even helped out with dinner." Veronica pointed out things that made Sándor perfect in her eyes.

"Why did he save us? That's what I'd like to know. What was his real reason?" Ned's misgivings made his tone more blunt than he would have liked.

"Why does anyone do anything to help someone else? You and Roxton have saved people in trouble. Did you expect something from them?" The jungle girl was quietly furious at the reporter's suspicions. Especially since she could still see in her mind's eye, Ned nearly being the main course of a raptor's meal. It was thanks to Sándor that he was still here.

"Of course not, but you have to admit that on the plateau usually you don't find people like that." Malone winced after he said that, realizing the inherent criticism of her home.

"I helped you out when I first met you; did you suspect me of anything?" Veronica stopped for a moment and continued more slowly. "Look, Ned, I've talked to him. He's a cultured gentleman. He knows a lot about music and composers. He's well read. He likes paintings, art. He treats me like a lady, just as I've read about in the books. He hasn't tried to impose himself on anyone. And he certainly has shown he can take care of himself in the jungle. He's not asked anyone here for anything."

Ned was silent. He felt himself at a disadvantage as Veronica rattled off this litany of Sándor's virtues.

Marguerite stood at the head of the stairs watching their guest and the other members of the treehouse thoughtfully. Sándor turned to talk to Challenger, unconcerned or unaware of Marguerite's scrutiny. Seeing the others occupied, the linguist slipped downstairs to assure herself of her lover's well being.

Noiselessly she entered Roxton's room to find him already stretched out on his bed, only his boots removed. Sleepily his eyes opened.

"What happened out there today, John?"

"Just what you heard. I gave him a gun, he made several impressive shots. Seemed to demonstrate a bit more awareness of the jungle than I expected." Roxton covered his mouth as he yawned. The hunter was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

Marguerite brows drew close as she thought about what Roxton said.

"We're missing something here."

But Roxton had no comment. He'd dozed off again. She had no more time to pursue her idea as she heard a shout from outside.

**continued **


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Veronica, friend of the Zanga!" The call came from below the treehouse.

Veronica leaned over the balcony. "Jarl! What's wrong? Is Assai all right?" Jarl stood several feet from the electric fence. He was accompanied by at least four Zanga hunters that the jungle girl could see.

"Assai is well. We are looking for Nall, my cousin. Did you see him after you left our village? He had gone hunting on the trail between our village and here."

"No, Jarl. We saw no sign of him yesterday or today. Do you think something's happened to him?"

"We fear that the one hunted by these Magyars has taken him. They say he is a demon sent from the spirit world." Before he turned to leave, Jarl looked at his wife's friend and then issued the warning he knew Assai would want him to give. "Do not travel alone until the demon is found." Jarl and the Zanga warriors disappeared back into the jungle.

"Demons, balderdash!" Challenger scoffed.

"You don't believe in demons, Professor?" Sándor asked curiously.

Ned and Veronica exchanged a woeful look and rolled their eyes. They'd heard this lecture before.

"What people call demons, or magic, is only something for which they don't have an explanation. Now I admit we have seen some strange phenomena on this plateau, but I'm convinced with sufficient study that a rational, scientific explanation can be found for each of these so-called magical encounters." Challenger was ready to continue on in that vein for some time. Veronica, however, had a distraction ready.

"I almost forgot, I picked up these plants today, and I thought you and Professor Summerlee might want to see them." Veronica picked up her bag from the table as the pair of delighted scientists followed her, and the three descended to the lab.

"Magyars?" Marguerite inquired, as if a piece of a puzzle had just fallen into place. She had stood very still as she listened to Jarl.

"The ones we told you about yesterday." Ned looked at Marguerite closely. "Do you know who they are?"

Before she could answer, Sándor turned to her with the book she'd been reading in his hands. He'd been glancing through it. "Is this your book?" At her nod, he continued. "You are quite a scholar."

"Not really, I read just about everything else here." This was said dismissively. As a matter of course, Marguerite tried to reveal as little about herself as possible. Having people, especially potential enemies, underestimate you gave you a distinct advantage.

"So modest and so very beautiful." His voice was deep and intimate as he took Marguerite's hand and bowed over it. A sense of unease flashed through her and she practically yanked her hand away from his surprisingly tight grasp, instead of handling the situation with her normal aplomb. She backed up; an unreasoning fear gripped her.

"Do not worry, Marguerite." Sándor's voice was low and almost humorous. "The ever vigilant Lord Roxton is not here to pin me to the wall." Sándor closed in on the dark-haired beauty step by step.

Ned took a step forward; unsure of precisely what to do, but knowing he should intervene. Not only because he knew Roxton wouldn't want Marguerite harassed; but also because something was definitely wrong when the expedition's linguist didn't handle a flirtatious male with a quip and an easy move.

"Speaking of Roxton, I should check on him. He seemed under the weather when you came back." Moving away, Marguerite shook her head as if to clear it, her voice edgy. "And I need to splash some water on my face."

Sándor watched her retreat speculatively, faintly smiling as if he savoured the taste of something exquisite.

"Veronica mentioned you wanted to see some of my journals." Ned spoke to distract the Count from Marguerite and prevent him from following her.

"Yes, she said you were keeping accounts of all your encounters on the plateau." Sándor's eyes were dragged back to Malone.

"I'm trying at any rate. Sometimes I read some of them and I'm not sure I believe them." Ned strove for a light note trying to act as if nothing was wrong.

Ned gestured at several of the journals that lay out. "I'd be interested to know if you've run across some of these cultures." As the Count looked over the journals, Ned saw Veronica mount the stairs from the lab and head for her room.

* * *

Roxton opened his eyes sleepily to see Marguerite sitting in a chair at his bedside, nodding off.

"Marguerite." No response. "Marguerite!" He hissed her name more vehemently. She started awake.

"What!" Her eyes focused on Roxton and she heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh you're awake." Her eyelids drooped down again. Roxton took her hand.

"Marguerite, what's wrong? Is it Bocskai?" Roxton persisted.

"He took my hand. It was wrong somehow." Marguerite tried to gather her thoughts.

"Bloody hell!" Roxton's feet hit the floor. Exhausted or not, he would put a stop to any liberties this damned Bocskai lout thought he could take.

"No, John, it wasn't what he did that was so wrong, but how it felt. I couldn't stand to have him touch me."

"We're in agreement on that."

"And then I was suddenly so tired. I was afraid for you, for me." She exhaled, exasperated. "I can't think straight. I didn't want to leave you alone."

"He's done something. We need to get our wits together and figure this out. In the meantime." Roxton lay back down on his bed, fatigue sapping his energy. He tugged on Marguerite's hand. "You're right that we shouldn't be alone."

"Are you inviting me to your bed, Lord Roxton?" Despite the tense situation Marguerite couldn't resist teasing.

"Constantly, but in this case, I think we're both too tired for more than sleep." His smile was soothing.

Marguerite could never hold out when he coaxed her so gently. She slipped into his bed and into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. In moments they both dropped off, resting more securely with physical reassurance of the other's safety.

* * *

"These are most intriguing." Sándor was skimming the stories Malone had written of their adventures. Occasionally he paused to read a line or two aloud. 

"This we know through centuries of battling the dragon: So purely evil is the dragon that nothing can withstand the dragon fire."

At those words Ned's head went up, startled.

Unaware that the reporter found anything unusual in what he said, Sándor remarked conversationally, "This is quite a remarkable story. Did you really find a dragon?"

Malone wasn't quite sure what to do, his normal instinct would have been to confront this strange guest with the ability he just demonstrated, but nothing about this situation was normal. And one doesn't live in close quarters with Marguerite for over three years and not learn how to employ the occasional devious method. Ned settled for just answering the question.

"Oh yes, it was an extremely impressive dragon. Challenger is still trying to find a scientific explanation."

Sándor chuckled and went back to the journals. Ned was left alone with his thoughts.

That indeed had been an incredible adventure. A horse designating Roxton as a king. Magical fire, an evil advisor, Ned and Veronica tracking down a cavern with buried kings and runes. He'd copied down those runes into his journal and brought them back to help find a way to defeat the dragon. Those runes had been the key. Luckily Marguerite had been able to translate them as usual. That left Ned with one question: How did Sándor just rattle off the translation of those runes and not even realize he'd done it?

The reporter sat bemused as Veronica came from her room and took the Count to the pond to cool off in the heat of the afternoon.

**continued **


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 **

Roxton and Marguerite joined the others for dinner. No one remarked on their joint entrance. Ned was not surprised to see Roxton keeping himself firmly between Sándor and Marguerite.

Veronica had decided to wear one of her mother's gowns to dinner to brighten up the celebration. The Count politely stood up as she entered the room. His eyes lingered on her. Veronica's face reflected her appreciation of the courtesy. _"I wish Ned would do this kind of thing occasionally."_ The errant thought slipped through her mind.

The Count bowed as he held her chair. "You are absolutely stunning. A woman of many facets. You handle a knife, or a formal meal with equal grace." He sat next to her and leaned in towards her with gratifying attention.

Ned watched the Count grimly, but was unwilling to talk to Veronica who was convinced his animosity towards Sándor was fired by jealousy.

Summerlee sensed the tension in the atmosphere. Even though he was unaware of the exact cause he suspected the Count's attention to Veronica might be one reason. He sought Sándor's advice on dinner to lighten the mood and provide a distraction. As the scientist-cum-chef poured a couple of teaspoons of sherry into each bird to reduce the gamey taste he glanced over to their guest.

"Count, I find I could use some advice on the preparation of this bountiful repast you and Roxton provided. Oh, you don't have to get up," Summerlee added this as Sándor hesitantly stood to join him, the bandage on his fingers replaced by a smaller less intrusive one. "Just call out your ideas." The elderly professor smiled most genially.

Sándor Bocskai stared blankly at the array of herbs and spices. He looked around to see the others watching him. He bowed and said, "I am completely confident that whatever you choose will be fine, Professor."

* * *

The after dinner conversation was subdued. Summerlee, Veronica and the Count handled most of the burden of the socializing as the daylight waned.

"These past days have been wonderful, Veronica." The Count smiled as he fingered his glass of wine. "You have let me stay here with your friends. This has been so very… stimulating. You are so gracious." The sweep of his hand encompassed her ensemble. "So very elegant a lady." He raised his wine glass in a salute.

Veronica flushed from pleasure at the praise. The evening light was just about faded when they heard a shout from outside the treehouse. "Veronica!"

"It's Jarl." Veronica recognized the voice of Assai's husband. "I'm going down to talk to him."

A few minutes later, she was back up in the treehouse, somber. "They found Nall."

"I take it the news isn't good?" Marguerite asked gently after Veronica was silent.

Veronica shook her head. "He's dead."

"Hunters are killed all the time, Veronica. The jungle is a dangerous place." Roxton spoke sympathetically, as only one who'd taken the risks many times could.

"There wasn't a mark on him." She looked at all her companions gathered together. "No one knows what killed him."

As the group grew quiet, Veronica once again escorted Sándor to his sleeping quarters, ostensibly to see if he needed anything else.

While the jungle girl was occupied, Ned, Roxton and Marguerite each provided the details of Sándor's behavior that they'd observed. Summerlee and Challenger listened carefully.

"So to summarize, we've seen this Count demonstrate skills that a number of us possess. He could throw a knife like Veronica, cook like Summerlee, and translate like Marguerite. And, Roxton, he seems to have taken the most from you, jungle skills, shooting." Challenger paused as he considered the next words. "We know that a Zanga hunter is dead."

"And the Zanga hunt with bow and arrows and," Roxton added significantly, "spears."

"The name of the tribe that he is avoiding is the Magyars," Marguerite put in. Summerlee and Challenger both took in a sharp breath as Roxton nodded his confirmation of the that fact.

"Who are the Magyars?" Ned asked as he realized the name held significance for Marguerite, Roxton, Summerlee and Challenger.

"They are the major ethnic tribe that makes up Hungary," Challenger stated, his mind adding in this fact into the total of what they knew. "Hungarians refer to their country as Magyarorszag."

"Country of the Magyar," Marguerite translated.

"Which is where Sándor is from," Ned commented.

"It can't be a coincidence," Roxton stated firmly.

"But absorbing talents, skills? This is preposterous!" Summerlee shook his head in disbelief.

"It does seem rather farfetched," Challenger remarked.

Marguerite looked daggers at the two scientists. "After all this time on the plateau, haven't we learned that anything could happen?"

"And just about everything has happened," Ned put in with a trace of dark humor.

"The question, people, is what do we do?" Roxton wanted a plan of action.

"If he has the powers you think he has, can he be hurt?" Summerlee's voice was practical.

Roxton strode to the rack by the elevator and returned with one of his Webleys. "I'm willing to find out."

"I don't know how much good a gun will do, John," Summerlee protested. "You say he was cut earlier?"

Ned and Roxton nodded. "We saw it bleeding," the reporter assured him.

"I caught a glimpse of his hand earlier, when he was changing the bandage. There isn't any sign of a cut on his hand. I think he put the bandage on for show."

"Is he that dangerous?" Challenger asked. "The worst that has happened is that you've been sleepy. And that's if he really has taken your talents." His voice was full of skepticism.

"Challenger, anything else you might be able to explain away. Skill with spears, knives, guns, even the cooking. But he read those runes. Runes no one else ever heard of," Ned spoke convincingly.

"And you're forgetting Nall. He isn't going to wake up, feeling fine again," Marguerite pointed out. Her chin rested on her hand and she stared angrily out at the gathering night.

Challenger nodded his head slowly, unhappy about the seeming mystic nature of their guest. "There must be some underlying scientific principle that is the basis for his powers."

Challenger's determination to wring a rational explanation out of the situation pulled faint smiles from his fellow explorers.

"What we need to do is decide how we can stop him." Summerlee's words brought everyone back to their main problem.

"If he can heal from wounds that easily, our weapons won't do us much good," Roxton remarked disgustedly.

"He's not afraid of raptors." Ned thought back over the past couple of days. "He didn't turn a hair when he saved Veronica and I." Ned frowned as he remembered the encounter earlier that day. "The Magyars told Veronica a gun wouldn't do any good."

"If he can take our skills and weaken us, he has no reason to fear any of us," Challenger pointed out.

"Why is he here? What is it that he wants?" Summerlee demanded.

"At first he used Veronica to avoid the Magyars. Now I think he wants Veronica for himself," Ned speculated. "A companion."

"He wants Roxton's abilities," Marguerite said it quietly. She was working at controlling the terror she felt at what this creature might do to him. The hunter put his hand over hers, warming the cold fingers in his grasp. The memory of the creature's eyes as they followed Roxton across the room had her shivering despite the warmth of the evening.

"Are you sure, Marguerite?" Challenger looked thoughtful. "The Count didn't go near Roxton that first night."

"That's because Roxton was taking care of you and I. You remember. Sándor avoided us like the …plague." Her voice dropped off on the last word. The explorers looked at each other. The significance of the concept was clear to all of them.

"But there are many diseases on the plateau. Why hasn't he just caught something before this?" Roxton asked the obvious question. "A mosquito could have bitten him, given him malaria."

"And what we had apparently wasn't infectious. No one else caught it. Even though we told him that, he still wouldn't come near us," Marguerite reflected.

"He apparently gains his abilities through touching people, maybe that's the only way he can pick up an illness." Challenger, his disdain for the supernatural forgotten, took the known facts about their guest to their logical conclusion.

"Then here's what we'll do." Roxton laid out his plan.

**continued **


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The others had listened and raised their objections.

"It's the only way." Roxton wouldn't be budged.

"We have to tell Veronica." Summerlee brought up the point no one wanted to deal with.

"Will she believe us?" Ned didn't like confrontation at the best of times. This was definitely not the best of times.

"Will who believe what?" Veronica came up the stairs and looked suspiciously at the five explorers.

While she knew they cared for her and the ties between them were familial, still there was always a bond between the five, perhaps due to their shared experience, that she wasn't a part of. They'd left London together, journeyed here, considered home to be somewhere other than the plateau. They had lives that existed outside the plateau.

Maybe that's why she'd gotten so close, so quickly to Finn. They were both of the plateau. Neither had regarded London as home.

"Sit down for a moment, my dear. I'm afraid this is going to take some explaining," Summerlee said gently.

* * *

"No, I don't believe it. That's too crazy. It sounds like something out the fantastic tales Ned's always spinning." 

"Veronica, please. I'm afraid it's true." Marguerite kept her voice even, sincere.

"No, Sándor cares for me. You just don't want someone to see me or appreciate me as something other than a simple jungle girl. You don't think a sophisticated man would want me." Veronica lashed out in disappointment even though in her heart she knew that wasn't the case.

Marguerite flinched back, hurt by the verbal attack. Roxton's arm braced her shoulders. The hunter tried to reason with young blonde. "You know that's not true. Think about all that's happened."

"You don't have to take our word for it, just don't take any chances and watch and see what happens." Summerlee's quiet words were, as always, the voice of reason.

Reluctantly Veronica agreed. She might be infatuated with Sándor, but her faith and trust resided in her impromptu family. She touched Marguerite's hand in silent apology for the earlier accusation. Marguerite's brief smile acknowledged her gesture.

As everyone began to head to their rooms to try and get what little sleep they might, Roxton tapped Ned on the shoulder to stop him from following the others. Roxton waited until everyone else was out of earshot. Then it seemed like he had to search for the right words.

"If things go south on this…" Roxton spoke softly, seriously. He paused and regarded the young man with great intensity. "It'll be up to you to keep them together."

Ned recognized Roxton's concern. Challenger might have been the expedition's leader, but his focus on science sometimes got in the way. And Roxton had always regarded Summerlee and Marguerite as warranting special protection. At first he was simply aware of a flush of pride that the hunter saw him as a capable fighter and protector. He nodded his understanding.

But then suddenly it struck him that the possibility of Roxton not surviving this mad venture was all too real. And Malone realized that the hunter didn't think his chances were all that good, either.

"Take care of Marguerite for me. Don't be fooled by what she says, or what went on in the past. Just remember all the things she's done for us." Roxton caught Ned's eyes, determined to be sure the reporter would recognize Marguerite's worth.

Ned swallowed, trying to imagine dealing with a Marguerite devastated by Roxton's death, and opted for a lighter note. "Just make sure you come through this. I can handle raptors and T-rexes, but I'm not up to Marguerite."

Roxton smiled softly and went down the steps, leaving Ned to extinguish the last light. He passed his room and turned into Marguerite's, brushing the sheer drapery that curtained her doorway gently to the side. It fell back behind him. Marguerite sat on the edge of her bed waiting for him. She hadn't lit a candle; a swath of moonlight striped the room.

"Don't do this, John."

"We went through this already. You and Challenger haven't recovered your full strength yet. Surely you don't expect Summerlee to be able to do it, do you?" She shook her head. "Malone hasn't been there before; he couldn't find it quickly enough."

"You throw your life away too easily," Marguerite reproached him.

Roxton shook his head with a quiet smile, brushing her hair back from her face. His thumb traced her cheekbone. "No, not anymore. Never before this have I had so much to lose."

* * *

The clock in the laboratory echoed through the treehouse. The never-ending tick marked off seconds that grew into minutes. Eventually they turned into hours. Most nights the sound was soothing, a counterpoint to the never silent jungle, signaling the marriage of civilization to the uncompromising dangers that lurked outside the treehouse. 

This night the sound taunted most of the residents of the treehouse, restless in their sleep, as they awaited the morning to see what fate had in store.

* * *

Roxton, gently disentangling himself from the form lying next to him, sat up and pulled on his boots. The dawn light was still just a promise on the horizon. He gripped Marguerite's shoulder, and put a finger to her lips. Her quick response showed that she hadn't slept much more than he had.

"Do you still have your gun?" Roxton's voice was just a murmur. Marguerite nodded and patted the pocket of her skirt. Neither had undressed last night. The situation was too uncertain.

"Be careful, John." And then because she knew he'd want a smile, added, "Don't forget you owe me a holiday."

"After this I guess a safari won't do. It'll have to be the south of France." He stroked her face, fingertips following the curve of her jaw, and then pulled her into his arms for kiss. Drawing back he said, "Stay out of Bocskai's reach." Standing up, he bent over and kissed her forehead. Then he was gone.

She was left with the memory of the snippet from John Donne that Roxton had quoted as they lay in bed, her head against his heart.

_"Let not thy divining heart  
Forethink me any ill;  
Destiny may take thy part,  
And may thy fears fulfil._

_But think that we  
Are but turn'd aside to sleep.  
They who one another keep  
Alive, ne'er parted be."_

**continued **


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

It was a couple of hours later that the explorers were gathered in the treehouse, making an attempt at normalcy by preparing a breakfast.

"Coffee, Marguerite?" Ned held up the pot. For once the expedition's linguist paid no attention to the morning elixir, her eyes trying to decide by the sun's position in the sky if Roxton would be heading back yet. Ned looked at her sympathetically and poured her a cup. Movement on the stairs caught his eyes. It was the Count.

Ned placed the cup in front of her and hissed, "It's Sándor."

Marguerite was now alert, although her body still moved languidly. She acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "Thank you, Ned. You make a fine cup of coffee." She sipped and let her eyes notice the Count who was looking about the room. "Good morning, Sándor." She looked away casually, paying no special attention to him.

"Care for some tea, Count?" Summerlee was there with the pot. He poured the tea at Sándor's nod into the cup on the table. The elderly professor moved away to putter a bit more with breakfast.

Challenger was using the crank to run his kinetic energy toaster, but kept casting glances at their guest. He started to say something but broke it off twice not sure of what to do. Sándor looked at him frowning. Challenger grew more nervous. Ned, uncertain as to what to do, but feeling he had to do something, decided to jump in and distract their guest.

"So it's a great day, isn't it, Sándor? Not too hot for a change. I was in Nevada once and it gets really hot there, too, but since it's a dry heat they don't think it's so bad. They keep saying it's not the heat, it's the humidity that's the problem." Ned was aware he was babbling but seemed unable to stop, even at the slight shake of Marguerite's head. By contrast, Veronica said nothing and didn't even look Sándor in the eye. The Count's brow creased.

"Ned, how many cups of coffee have you had?" Marguerite smiled easily and impartially at Sándor and Summerlee. "He gets so jittery if he's had too much coffee."

"I think tea is a much better choice," Summerlee tossed in. "But both Ned and Marguerite insist on their coffee in the morning."

Sándor started to relax at the normal conversational tones. He leaned towards Veronica to say something, but stopped as she edged away. He frowned in concentration. He glanced at Marguerite who met his eyes blandly. He thought for a moment and then reached his hand out towards Marguerite who stood unhurriedly, picking up her cup.

Casually, Marguerite stepped towards the coffee pot. "Ready for a refill, Ned?"

"Wha…ah, yeah, sure." Ned was startled into a reply. His eyes had been fixed on Sándor's arm. They held the same fascinated horror that a rabbit has as it watches the cobra about to strike.

"Where is Lord Roxton?" Sándor's question might have been casual small talk. Marguerite tried to keep her answer the same.

"I believe he went hunting this morning." She sounded as if she was unconcerned as to wherever the hunter might be. Sándor's eyes narrowed.

It was apparent that Sándor was no longer taken in by their attempts to keep their knowledge a secret. Marguerite's hand slid towards her pocket. Suddenly the Count's hand struck out to grab Malone's arm. The reporter stumbled back. The Count wheeled about to seize Veronica.

Bang! The explosive sound of gunfire echoed through the treehouse.

Marguerite's shot hit Sándor's arm. He fell to the side grasping the wound. Blood was flowing over his fingers. He smiled and rose. He let go of his arm. The blood had stopped flowing.

"Really, Marguerite, you have made quite a mess." Sándor picked up a cup of water and poured it over his arm, rinsing away the blood. The skin was beginning to heal itself. He poured the remainder over his bloody fingers. He found himself with the explorers and Veronica all standing over an arm's length away. "You can shoot again." His tone was smooth, urbane, unworried. "I will recover, but my appetite will just increase."

"Your appetite?" The words had whetted Challenger's curiosity.

The Count smiled most unpleasantly. "Despite the savory nature of your food and the appeal it has to my senses, my true nourishment is found from another source. And it has its own piquant delights."

"You take our energy," Malone stated. "That's why whoever you touch is so tired."

"Oh not just energy, but essence." The Count's voice was most loving as he said the word. "I gain so much more than mere nourishment."

"You take our skills as well." Summerlee strove with little success for scientific detachment; the revulsion he felt couldn't be disguised completely

"You are correct, Professor. I say once again, how gratifying it is to be once more among such learned people."

"That's why you could throw a knife like Veronica." Ned stood ready to move but unsure as to what would be effective.

"And you could read languages like Marguerite." Veronica was still coming to grips with the fact that this man who seemed so perfect could be so vile.

"You took Roxton's skills as well," Marguerite stated flatly. "So why are you still here? You have what you need. Go."

"Ah, but I do not have what I need. I have just had a taste, as it were, of each of you. The skills I acquired have faded." Sándor spun about grabbing the spear. In one swift move he hurled it so it stuck in the floor in front of the stairs leading to the lab. Challenger jumped back. "I do not wish you to leave us, Professor Challenger." The Count eyed the red haired scientist. Challenger glared at him, unhappy that his attempt to unobtrusively gain his lab failed.

"If your stolen skills fade, how did you do that?" Malone asked, his repugnance apparent.

"Since I had refreshed myself so completely with that Zanga hunter, I have retained those skills." Bocskai knew he had control of the situation. "Nall, I believe you said his name was, will be with me for a number of years. At least his essence will be."

"How often do you …feed?" Summerlee inquired, pushing back his own feelings, knowing they needed to learn as much as they could.

"I do not emerge to hunt very often. It depends on how well I dine, on how lonely I get." He eyed Veronica again. "It's been many years since my last excursion on this most fascinating plateau."

"You steal people's thoughts." Veronica's disbelief mingled with contempt.

"Alas, no, my fair one. I wish I could take the thoughts of those around me, it would prove most helpful on occasion. Regretfully it is only their skills, abilities, or that which is part of their innermost beings that is mine for the taking."

"How did you become," Challenger paused searching for a phrase, "what you are?"

"The scientific mind, always with the questions. I seriously considered you, Professor or you, Professor Summerlee, for," Sándor smiled, "a portion of my main course once I met you. It is a pity that my greed overcame me when I came upon that Zanga hunter. If only I had known there would be so many delectable choices just waiting for me, I would have just dined here. But to answer you – no one quite knows. A curse perhaps, maybe just a gift to me from some ancestor. I was born this way. Of course no one realized anything was amiss for years. Not even me. People were suddenly tired, I could do many things, but they were things others could do as well, nothing seemed that out of the ordinary."

Sándor glanced at his audience. It was stimulating to be able to talk about his life. It wasn't often he had the chance. "I was nearly a young man before I realized what I could do. I was circumspect, of course. But once I discovered the pleasures of being replete," his smile caused the explorers watching him to swallow uncomfortably, "the temptation to overindulge was beyond resisting."

"You took Nall, so why don't you just go back to whatever hole you crawled out of," Veronica snarled at him.

The Count smiled at her. "I have yet to finish my repast."

"It wasn't just by chance that you made your way here," Marguerite said thoughtfully.

"How clever of you to deduce that. Intelligence wrapped in such beauty. An air of sophistication. You would make a fascinating companion. No, my lair, as you might put it, is many miles away. But rumours of your small band have spread across the plateau. The marvelous skills you possess. The threats you have defeated. Two women of surpassing beauty. How could one not hear? Of course, one could not believe everything. The tales were too fantastic. So imagine my surprise when the rumours did not do you and your friends justice. That all of you are everything that the stories say, and more. The heroic Lord Roxton whose skill is only matched by his bravery." The contempt in his voice at Roxton's name was unmistakable. "The inquisitive scribe," he nodded at Malone, "brilliant scientists, some say wizards, and two women who are not just beautiful but each talented in their own right." He gazed at Veronica possessively. "So amazing to find that the jungle beauty is not only skilled at survival but also an artist and a lover of classical music. You might have been made for me."

"So you're going to kill all of us," Malone said. His hand gripped Veronica's arm to prevent her from attacking Sándor. Her impetuousness might mean her death.

"No, not all. Even my capacity would not extend that far. I'll only take one more for nourishment. The needs of my situation dictate my choice. Dealing with my enemies is my primary concern. But since the opportunity presents itself," Sándor looked to Veronica, "I'll take one as a companion."

"Try it and see how far you get!" Veronica snapped at the creature.

"My exquisite Veronica, you misunderstand. I truly mean as my companion. You will be as I am. I have learned how to," he paused, looking for the right word, "share my gift. You will remain young and beautiful, able to roam the jungles or enjoy the more cultural pursuits that I know appeal to you. There would be so much in which we could indulge ourselves. I told you I was born like this, but you did not ask when. I was born in 1820. An additional benefit to my gift is that the aging process is slowed to a standstill."

"Why did you leave Miclosoara?" Summerlee asked.

"A matter of necessity. As my nature became known, I was driven out!" The Count didn't hide the bitterness that caused.

"Pursued by the Magyars," Marguerite concluded.

Sándor tipped his head in acknowledgement of her accurate deduction.

"But after all these years they can't be the same people who hunted you," Challenger protested.

"After pursuing me here to 'the ends of the earth', as it were, they found themselves stranded. They settled here. Married, raised their children, but they passed on the story. The legacy of the hunt, one might say. Very touching really. They view me as their responsibility. They are quite determined to relieve the world of my presence." The Count's manner was bland and condescending, sure he was in control.

"If you know of us, then you know we might be able to help you. Let us try and cure you." Challenger was fervent in his plea. It was both as a way of resolving the danger and of learning more about this most curious condition.

"There is one minor problem with that, Professor. I do not wish to be cured. This is a most invigorating life. One I am looking forward to sharing." He looked significantly at Veronica, who clenched her fist. He smiled in anticipation.

"Are you sure you prefer Veronica?" The sultry tones pulled the Count's attention to Marguerite who shifted her body, tipping her head to the side, subtly trying to evoke a response few males ever resisted. "Young forever, indulging in such sensuous pleasures as you describe." She dropped her voice significantly. "There are women who would find this irresistible."

"Marguerite! How could you?" Veronica challenged her hotly. The situation had left Veronica on edge, ready to lash out at anyone. And Marguerite, as usual, was most convincing in her performance.

"She could not. Most regrettably." Sándor sighed. "I had considered you, Marguerite. You're intriguing enough to keep a man bewitched for centuries."

"So why not? We'll go now." Marguerite's manner was enticing, intimate. Behind the façade, her mind was racing, searching for a way to prevent the next step, the most dangerous step, in their plan from occurring.

"You forget, Marguerite, I sampled you. And not only did I receive the heady rush of a fine champagne as I absorbed your incredible facility for languages and your gift for intrigue, but I detected your love for Lord Roxton." He eyed the dark-haired explorer as Challenger might an interesting specimen. "It runs so deep that it is part of your soul. A most fortunate man, Lord Roxton. By the way, he does return your love with an equal fervour. Which, of course, makes you most useful to me. He would protect any of you, but he is most susceptible to threats to you, Marguerite."

The grumble of the elevator's hydraulic system filled the room. It was the sound that Marguerite had been both hoping for and dreading.

**continued **


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 

"I assume that this is Lord Roxton returning." The Count closed the gap between Marguerite and himself. "Stand here with me and we will prevent his lordship from doing anything inadvisable."

Sándor's glib, confident manner filled Marguerite with apprehension. She castigated herself mentally for not succeeding in drawing the Count away before Roxton's return.

As Roxton stepped off the elevator he was struck by the tableau of his friends staring at Sándor who stood behind Marguerite, his hand held inches from her face, ready to grasp her neck. The dark haired beauty stood still, her head tilted slightly away from the Count's hand, not letting the fear Roxton knew she must feel show on her face.

"Go back, John. It's you he wants to feed on. He'll kill you. He can't do anything unless you're here." Marguerite spoke with deceptive calmness; only her rigidly held body betrayed her fear.

"She is quite correct, Lord Roxton. However my patience is not unlimited and if you are unavailable, then I believe your Miss Krux will fill my bill of fare quite nicely."

"It's me you want." Roxton laid down his rifle, his eyes fixed on the Count. He unhooked his gun belt and gently lowered it to the floor. "Let her go. I won't stop you from feeding. You have my word." Roxton's voice was quiet, steady. His cheeks were flushed.

The Count considered his offer, but knowing that across the plateau Roxton was a reputed man of honor, he nodded his agreement.

The hunter approached the Count, took Marguerite's hand in his and tugged her forward so he could step between the woman he loved and the vile evil that stood in their home. One worry eased now that she was behind him, away from the danger of this psychic vampire.

Marguerite held her breath. _"Would it work?"_

Roxton, his expression unreadable, the imperturbable Englishman, held out his hand as if to shake the Count's , as composed as if he was meeting him at a social function . With an evil smile, Sándor clasped the hand held out to him. For a moment a look of gluttony and triumph washed over the Count's face.

Fearing the worst, Marguerite darted forward to intervene. Ned quickly grasped her arm tightly, holding her back. He'd promised Roxton he'd take care of her. And he was going to make good on that promise. They had to play out this hand.

Then horror filled Sándor's eyes. "What have you done?" His words came with a gasp.

"A plague upon your house." Roxton's tone was ironic. He clutched the Count's hand tightly, preventing the vile monster from escaping his fate.

The Count panted, trying to pull away. Roxton's face paled, the Count shivered, his eyes now fever bright. He sank to his knees, the tall hunter managing to still grip his hand as he stood over Sándor. Roxton's stance was shaky. The Count went limp. For a moment Roxton stood there, pale and trembling, retaining the Count's hand, needing to be sure he succeeded.

Then Roxton collapsed on the floor, toppling away from the Count. Both men were seemingly lifeless. The hunter's grip on his prey was released as he fell.

With a cry of "John!" Marguerite tore herself out of Ned's hold and dove to Roxton's side. A hand went to his forehead, her ear to his heart. The time seemed endless. Her first worry was if this damnable Count had drained him of life. With a cry of relief she said, "He's alive. But he has a fever."

Ned was standing by Sándor, but reluctant to touch him. Challenger returned from the lab where he had dashed when the men had fallen.

Summerlee took the old-fashioned stethoscope from Challenger's hand. Carefully, so as not to touch the body directly, he listened for a heartbeat. After several minutes he lifted his head and shook it. He could detect no sign of life within the Count.

"What should we do about the body?" Malone asked.

"Why not see if we can find the Magyars? Let them deal with it," Challenger suggested. "They'll want proof that he's dead. That finally the mission that brought their ancestors here is completed."

Veronica nodded. "I'll go."

"First, we need to get Roxton downstairs to bed." Marguerite had his head cradled in her arms and was brushing his hair back. Now she worried if the Count had drained him too much, would he have the strength to recover from the virulent fever?

"I can walk." The weak voice of the hunter startled his companions. Marguerite sighed in relief. His arm curved around her back, reassuringly.

"You're not going to be doing much on your own for sometime, if this hits you like it did Challenger and I." Marguerite's tone was harsh, afraid she'd end up babbling if she gave way to the emotions crowding through her.

"Did it work?" Roxton demanded.

"It seems to have," Summerlee replied. "That was quite a risk you took. Deliberately exposing yourself to the source of Challenger and Marguerite's infection." Summerlee looked at the hunter who seemed to be in better shape than any of them expected. Maybe the Count had drained part of the fever when he attempted to siphon Roxton's life away.

"It was the only thing he feared. Just to be sure I broke another one of the urns." Roxton took hold of Marguerite's hand wanting the comfort of her touch. He smiled apologetically at the scientist. "Sorry, Challenger."

"What if you were overcome by the fever before you made it back here?" Veronica was distressed by the thought of all the problems Sándor had caused.

"It was a risk I had to take. As it was I ended up waiting below until I was sure the fever had taken hold." Roxton grimaced as he remembered the voices floating down to him as he forced himself to wait for the right moment.

"Well, now you pay the price for your heroics." Despite the dry tones, Marguerite's thumb stroked the back of his hand. She tried to keep her composure, but her relief at his surviving the encounter was nearly overwhelming her.

"I'm looking forward to you as Florence Nightingale," Roxton managed to get out as Ned and Challenger pulled him upright.

"I hope you like the taste of chamomile tea." Marguerite followed them down the stairs as Roxton's laugh ended in a cough.

**Epilogue to follow... **


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Marguerite!" The voice was weak but insistent. Roxton lay feverish on his bed. "He can't have her."

"Easy, John." Summerlee's voice was firm but comforting. "She's fine, safe." The older man emphasized the last word. "She'll be back in a minute."

His words must have sunk in because Roxton lay still and quiet for a moment.

Marguerite had just left the hunter to wash up. She'd spent the day in the sickroom again, just as she had these past three days. Her presence seemed to keep the hunter calm.

"No! Not Marguerite!" Roxton tried again to raise himself off the bed. Summerlee pushed his shoulders back to the bed. It was a measure of how much the fever had drained the hunter that the elderly scientist was able to succeed. At that moment the scientist caught sight of a bit of movement at his side. The hunter's hand was taken in the firm grasp of two feminine hands.

"It's all right, John. You saved me." At the soft tones, Roxton settled back down but his hand held hers in a surprisingly firm grip. Marguerite turned her attention to Summerlee, a question in her eyes. The past forty-eight hours the hunter had been raving. She wasn't sure how much more to expect. Weariness was compounded by worry.

"It's not surprising that he's so agitated. Not only is he contending with the fever, but also with the worries he had over our safety." Summerlee smiled wryly. "You two are very much alike, you know."

Marguerite lifted her brows in inquiry.

"He stayed by your side when you were ill. You called to him."

Marguerite concentrated on brushing the hair from Roxton's forehead, not wanting to meet Summerlee's eyes. She smiled softly at the features now relaxed in a restful sleep.

"It's good that you're here for him," Summerlee remarked approvingly.

"I haven't done him any favours." A trace of bitterness colored her words as she thought of how she had been used to manipulate the hunter by that damned Count, and in the past by other villains they'd encountered. She remembered how he once said he was 'a trifle weary of having every lunatic on the plateau put a gun to her head or a knife to her throat'.

Summerlee studied her for a moment. Seemingly at random he spoke. "Did I ever tell you about a conversation I had with Roxton as we hacked our way through the Amazon jungle?"

Marguerite shook her head, her attention devoted to their patient.

"We knew the cannibals were nearby. I was horrified to see John rubbing his face and arms with a poisonous plant. I couldn't understand how it would prevent a cannibal from eating him. He told me that it wouldn't, but would ruin his appetite."

Marguerite smiled at the still form in the bed.

"I was dumbfounded that he didn't care if he was eaten, just that he would have some form of revenge." The white haired scientist paused for a moment.

"That's so like him, daring fate, reckless with his own life." Marguerite's tone was rueful.

"He's not like that now. Now he has something to live for." Summerlee studied the most enigmatic member of their disparate band.

Marguerite understood Summerlee's intent, but said nothing to him. She busied herself sponging the brow of her patient with her free hand. But in her mind was thought that she was living for the moment, with no promise of tomorrow. What was fine for the plateau was one thing. London, well that was another matter. She'd keep her own counsel on the future, but she consoled herself, at least she'd enjoy what she'd been given in the here and now.

Summerlee assessed the pair. Challenger might be the visionary, the brilliant scientist, but Summerlee knew people just as well as he knew plants. As far as he could tell, on or off the plateau these two would need each other, but he mused,_ "Perhaps Marguerite isn't ready to acknowledge that." _He stood slowly and patted her shoulder. "No sense borrowing trouble, it gets here on its own quickly enough. And there's no telling what tomorrow has in store."

Marguerite's face softened as she remembered Roxton's voice telling her the "future is always up for grabs".

Summerlee, wise in the ways of people, didn't look for a direct answer from Marguerite, but touched the hand that was still held in Roxton's grip and left, turning back at the doorway. "Call me if you need me."

Marguerite nodded.

* * *

Summerlee made his way to the balcony. He knew he'd find it occupied, as he had so often these past few days. He had another casualty from their encounter with the Count to try and heal. 

Veronica stood next to the easel holding the painting of the "Dancing Dolls". Her finger traced the outline of the yellow flowers, but her attention wasn't focused on the illustration. Her face was sad and brooding. A frown had become her accustomed expression these past days.

"It really is a most delightful painting," Summerlee remarked casually.

The statement didn't cheer up the jungle girl. "How could I have fallen for such a fraud? How could I have brought him here?" She really didn't expect an answer. There was more self-reproach in her voice than a request for an explanation.

Naturally Summerlee didn't respond to that directly.

"Lately, I've been thinking a lot about when we first came to the plateau." Summerlee pulled his pipe out and began packing it. Veronica was drawn out of her introspection by the unexpectedness of the elderly botanist's words. Summerlee continued as he patted his pockets for a match. "We were such a incongruous bunch. Each bent on charting our own course, focused on our own concerns." He found a match and struck it. He was quiet for a moment or two as he created sufficient draw to start the tobacco smoldering. His eyes looked back into the past. "Did you ever think what might have happened to us if you hadn't take a chance on us? On trusting us?"

Mutely, Veronica shook her head.

"It took us a long time to learn to work together, to depend on each other. If you hadn't taken us in, well, who knows if we would have survived long enough to learn." The white haired Englishman seemed to be considering the idea as he savored the aromatic tobacco. "We were fortunate that you took the risk with us." Summerlee puffed on his pipe a bit more.

"It was a good thing I took the risk." The furrows in Veronica's brow smoothed a bit as she considered the past. There had been no assurances that those strangers she'd taken in would be worth the chance she was taking. At times early on in the explorers' stay she was sure she'd made a huge mistake. She now thought of that time as a birth of a new family. And like all births it had been painful and messy, and well worth the effort.

"Indeed, it certainly was a good thing for us." Summerlee agreed readily.

Veronica smiled. "And for me." Touching his arm, she learned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Professor."

She walked back to the treehouse, more liveliness to her step than there had been these past few days. Summerlee settled himself into a chair and leaned back so he could enjoy his pipe as he watched the sunset.

* * *

The treehouse was dark, only a single candle cast a glow in Roxton's room. The extra cot that had been brought in was unoccupied. Marguerite curled in the chair next to the bed, dozing lightly, her hand still curled in the hunter's fever warmed hand. Roxton shifted in bed, his movement disturbing the now loosely clasped hands. 

"John?" Marguerite roused, murmuring softly. She felt his forehead. The fever was no worse, but it hadn't gone down much either.

His eyes fluttered open, he tried for a smile with little success.

"Rest." Marguerite wrung out a cloth and sponged his head and face again.

"This isn't much of a holiday." Roxton's voice was steady if not strong, but Marguerite noted, no longer delirious. It was a hopeful sign that he was now on the road to recovery. Evidently Summerlee had been right and that bloody psychic vampire had at least drained away some of the effects of the fever in his attack on Roxton.

"Oh, don't think you're off the hook, Lord Roxton." Marguerite refreshed the cloth before she sponged his hands. She knew the teasing would keep his spirits up. "You promised me the south of France."

Roxton's smile was a bit more successful this time. "And I have just the place in mind. It's nearly the same."

"On the plateau, 'nearly' is good enough, I suppose." Marguerite sounded amused as she poured some water into a glass for her patient. "Challenger left this for you." She picked up a draught that looked like it tasted vile and brought it to the hunter's mouth. His hand stopped her from putting the cup to his lips.

"So you'll go with me?" Roxton bargained. He knew he had to take advantage of the situation.

"Not until you're well." Marguerite tried to push the cup to his lips again.

"I have your word." Roxton stubbornly held out.

"Yes, I'll go with you. But not, I repeat, not until you're completely well." Marguerite would have promised him anything to get him to drink the medicine.

Roxton grinned, very much in his usual manner, but it soon changed to a grimace as he choked down Challenger's concoction.

_

* * *

_

_some days later _

The dark haired couple hiked a slightly different route than usual to the Inland Sea.

"Are you sure that fever didn't addle your memory, Roxton? We usually take that fork back there towards the sea."

"Patience." Roxton grinned. Patience wasn't Marguerite's stock in trade in most circumstances on the plateau. "You'll see."

"That's what I'm afraid of." But Marguerite's words were quietly spoken to herself. She watched the hunter carefully, worried that he might overdo this first excursion from the treehouse.

A half mile further and the path inclined upwards. To Marguerite's eyes Roxton was looking a bit paler than she liked. Then he paused as the trees gave way to a meadow. His sudden stop had caught her off guard. She reached out to steady him afraid that he'd grown lightheaded. She grasped his arm just below the elbow with one hand, the other arm looped about his waist. She braced herself to bear more of his weight.

He quirked an eyebrow at her, enjoying her protective actions. "What are you going to do if I faint? Carry me?"

"It's either that or leave you for the raptors." Marguerite's tart tone informed him she'd consider both possibilities. She was reassured by his look that he was still doing fine although she tried not to let her relief seem too obvious. She let her arm drop away.

"As much as I'd like to see you try to haul me about, I don't think we'll need to put it to the test. We're here." He gestured with his right hand, grasping her hand in his left one.

Marguerite caught her breath at the beauty of the flower filled scene. The riotous colors and the aromatic breeze combined to form a beckoning paradise. The meadow tapered down towards the sands of the Inland Sea.

Roxton tugged her forward towards a sheltered spot. A glance about assured him that he'd have sufficient warning there of intruders, whether human or animal. He pulled out a blanket to spread upon the soft grass. He anchored one corner with his rucksack and gestured at Marguerite to do the same.

"Ready for lunch?" Marguerite asked as she turned to pull provisions from their packs as her companion stretched out on the blanket.

"I am hungry." Roxton commented with a smile and a lift of his eyebrows. The hunter caught her hand and drew her down onto the blanket.

* * *

The flowers bowed slightly as the breeze wafted their gentle fragrance across the meadow to where the couple lay enjoying the warmth of the day. Clad only in his khakis, he lay with his head propped on one elbow watching the woman beside him. She lay close beside him, wearing only camisole and skirt. He was idly tangling his fingers through the dark hair that was spread out on the blanket. She wore a pleased smile at his attentions. 

Eyes closed she remarked as she inhaled the glorious scent of the flowers, "So this is your idea of Côte d'Azur."

"I thought the resemblance was there." He closed his own eyes and enjoyed the sweet aroma. Then he glanced at his companion, "A perfect meadow and a beautiful woman. What more could you want."

"Waiters scurrying to and fro with extra dry martinis, anxious to do my bidding," Marguerite remarked reminiscently, but not really unhappily.

"But here there are no crowds of people preventing me from this," Roxton commented as his callused finger idly traced the soft skin at edge of her camisole from the shoulder down to the curve across her chest. She caught his hand.

"I thought you said you were hungry earlier." Marguerite remarked playfully.

"I did. I just never said it was for food." His hand returned to its prior occupation. She shivered.

"You have recovered." Marguerite's voice was meaningful as her eyes gleamed wickedly. Then she returned the favor by tracing the muscles of his bare chest. It was his turn to for a sharp intake of air.

"It must be your excellent nursing." He bent his head and nipped at her neck. "I think it's time for another dose of medicine."

Breathless, Marguerite remarked, "If I must, I must. Anything to help you recover…." She tugged his head down for a kiss.

Roxton lifted his head after a few moments. "I'm feeling better already."

"You're sure this isn't just an attempt to distract me because you forgot to pack a lunch?" Despite her teasing words Marguerite didn't seem all that interested in food as her hands wandered.

The hunter defended himself playfully as he enjoyed the sensations her touch sparked. "It's all there, bread, cheese, wine." Roxton's breath caught as she found the sensitive spot on his ribs. He smiled significantly as he added, "And I remembered the grapes, this time."

Their intimate laughter mingled in the warm afternoon air.

**finis **

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Inspiration for Sándor's unique abilities came not from Bram Stoker, despite the nod given to him in this story, but rather from a sci-fi/fantasy story by Simon R. Green. I changed the character's motivations and weaknesses to fit the constraints of my story.

Information on field dressing game birds and preparation of them came from The Joy of Cooking, January, 1973.

The poem that Roxton quotes to Marguerite is _Song_ by John Donne.

The complete text can be found at: luminarium org/sevenlit/donne/sweetest _(www, the period before org, & .htm left off due to fanfiction net formatting requirements). _The choice of this poem was dictated by two considerations. One is that we've had examples of Roxton quoting Donne before, specifically in End Game. Secondly, the sentiment in the section I quoted reflected what Roxton tells Death he'd do if Marguerite was taken from him. He'd "go on living just to keep the memory of her alive." I suspect he'd want her to do the same.

In Pirate's Curse Malone credits Veronica with teaching him how to throw the knife, so it made sense to me that they probably did some target practice.

Transylvania post WWI – My gratitude to CMS, Ariadne and Santa Crux for their help in keeping me from a misstep over Transylvania's status. CMS drew my attention to the issue. Ariadne explained the cultural ties, and Santa Crux has tons of documentation that she shared. This was also complicated in that in 1923 (the setting of the story) the situation in Europe would not be known to the explorers. They would only have knowledge of the events before they left for the plateau in 1919.

Some of the info Santa Crux shared with me: After Treaty of Trianon 1920, Transylvania was in Romania. The Treaty of Versailles was signed 28 June 1919 and all the bigwigs (Lloyd George, W Wilson, Clemenceau) went home. The other treaties were settled by the lesser lights after that and the media coverage in England would have been much reduced. The Hungarian rebellion (Bela Kun) happened 21 March 1919, the Romanian occupation took place after that. The Treaty of Trianon was signed 4 June 1920. At that time there were a lot of treaties being signed, new states being created, ethnic unrest etc.

Santa Crux credits her source as: The Oxford Illustrated History of WWI ed Hew Strachan 1998.

My thanks to CMS and Lisa Paris for their assistance on the Magyars. I was unsure as to whether Roxton and Marguerite would recognize the connection to Hungary. The background they gave me assured me they would. Again another misstep adverted.

So what mysterious illness did Marguerite and Challenger have? I decided on a variation of the "Pharaoh's curse". It's been speculated that when ancient Egyptian tombs were opened a mold infected those who entered too quickly before the 'bad air' had a chance to escape. The illness was frequently deadly. The coincidence of the illness to those who entered the tomb led to speculation that there was a curse on those who entered the tombs of the Pharaohs. Also after some research I found out that the Grooved Ware People's burial urns sometimes contained black henbane, which is not only a poison, but a powerful hallucinogen. Gives you a whole new perspective on the episode Suspicion, doesn't it?

_Oíche Shamhna_ or Samhuinn is Gaelic for Samhain, a Wicca festival that coincides with a more well know day, Halloween. It seemed an appropriate feast day to be celebrating when a psychic vampire shows up.

Hungarian words  
Hölgay means lady  
Drágám means my dear

I hope this was as enjoyable to read as it was to write. If you have questions about the story please email me through the fanfiction net email link. Also if you want to read other fan fiction from me or some other authors who don't always post here, check out my home page link from fanfiction net.


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